


I Want to Believe

by ArchangelEquinox



Series: Once More to the Breach [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, F/M, Heavy Angst, Lyrium Withdrawal, Magic, Major Character Injury, Minor canon divergence, Skyhold, The Fade, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelEquinox/pseuds/ArchangelEquinox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor tries to close a rift, only to be rescued by her Commander when things start going badly.  His sudden appearance seems fortuitous, but the Inquisitor soon learns that Cullen is in fact trapped within the Fade, fighting for his life while lyrium withdrawal tries to claim it.  </p><p>And it is up to her to save him.  </p><p> </p><p>Canon-Typical Violence = Truth (some gore in later chapters, but with warnings).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Graves

            The rift crackled to life as she approached, though she couldn't quite remember how she got there.  Without hesitation, she dropped into stealth, hoping her team was far enough behind her to avoid attracting demonic attention.  She pulled herself up onto a nearby boulder, tucking her toes into a foothold to climb higher until she reached the top of the outcropping. 

            Finally, she could see.  And luckily, the demons could not. 

            The rift sprawled below her, its sickly green shimmering against the rich hues of the Emerald Graves.  The sharp scent of ozone drifted toward her on what was left of the wind.  The forest, normally so tranquil, now bubbled with unwelcome magical energy. 

            At the edge of the rift's influence, Talia could see little brown nugs running away from its magic, their long ears lilting through the brush as they made their escape.  A halla, just far enough away, was still headed in this direction, but as she watched, it stumbled against the rift magic and turned abruptly back, bellowing its upset to any followers.  Even the animals were repelled by this place. 

            The grove itself was strangely silent.  She could hear the rift crackling, the thrumming of power as its tendrils began to spout demons, but nothing else -- no breeze through the towering trees above her, no birds chirping or flitting about.  Even the sunlight sifting through the leaves seemed to have stilled. 

            _That can't be good_.

            As she turned her attention back, the tendrils of magic separated into six locations, soon to be six demons.  Four silhouettes of smoke, wraiths, gradually formed, leaving two green puddles still bubbling on the ground.  _Even if they're both Terrors, we're okay,_ she thought, and she leapt nimbly to the ground to prepare her team. 

            They weren't there. 

            Dorian, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Cole… not one of the team she so often travelled with stood near her, waiting to set their plan of action.  She turned around swiftly, searching the Graves around her.  _Dorian favors that stupid green armor lately_ , she grumbled to herself. _And Cole can vanish at will._  Maybe she'd just lost them to the overwhelming details of the lush forest around her.  Talia spun again, the opposite way this time, and accidentally stepped into the rift's circle of influence.

            A split second later, her stealth wore off, leaving her exposed. 

            _Oh shit._

            A wiggling green puddle appeared below her feet, signaling the momentary arrival of a Terror.  "Uh… I need some help!" She shouted, scrambling until her back hit the stone behind her.  "Dorian! Anyone!"  Her hands fumbled as she shouted.  Finally her daggers were there, though one shook more than she personally felt was necessary. 

            _I am not afraid,_ her mind whispered, the emptiness of the forest around her pressing closer.

            But the next moment the Terror leapt from the earth in front of her, its spidery, towering form already advancing, and she realized then that she was really, truly, alone in the Emerald Graves. 

            Suddenly that shaking fear moving through her seemed much more appropriate. 

            _Oh shit_ , she had time to think again before the Terror was on her. 

            She dodged sideways, skimming along the boulder as the Terror's claws sliced against the stone.  Her right hand slashed out but missed, the shake affecting her more than she'd realized.  Instead of trying again, she sprinted away, her back to the Terror and her heart pounding. 

            As she rounded the boulder, the mist-like shape of a wraith appeared in front of her.  It was meandering slowly toward the rift; it clearly had not seen her yet.  _Thank the Maker,_ she thought and leapt at it.  The twin daggers sank deep, and it lurched forward into death.  Even as it disintegrated, its essence sucked back into the rift, she was already moving again. 

            Another green puddle coalesced under her feet as she came upon another wraith, and she offered up a prayer to the Maker as she sliced through its form.  It too dissolved.  Her boots had just stepped beyond the puddle when the Terror erupted from the ground. 

            Thankfully she wasn't knocked over, but she didn't have enough time to recover as it advanced once again.  Its long claws slashed at her; she dodged, just barely, and sliced at it with one hand.  The other dug into her belt.  Her attack connected just as her stealth powders exploded over her, and the wounded Terror lost her in a cloud of smoke. 

            _Two more wraiths, and still two Terrors._  Stealth protected her as she snuck up on a wraith that listed beneath the rift, plunging her daggers into its shoulders.  The other spotted her through her shadows, flinging hot, sticky demon goo at her.  It clung, dripping, but she didn't have time to wipe it off.  She charged the last wraith, hoping the Terrors hadn't caught up as she couldn't afford to look down.  Its form was surprisingly solid as she crashed into it. 

            They both went down in a haze of goo and blades, her stabbing at it desperately and it trying to dig its smoke-like fingers into her armor.  When at last it fell, diffusing back to the rift, she was so covered with goo she couldn't see her leathers anymore. 

            The heat--and stench-- of it were overwhelming, but she didn't have time to pause.  Raising her left arm, dagger still in hand, she willed the Anchor open, trying desperately to disrupt the rift before one of the Terrors found her.  It crackled, electric energy tingling up her arm.  Pain, starting in her palm and gradually spreading, started to paralyze her as she pulled as hard as she could against the rift. 

            _Almost…. Almost…_ The rift was moments from exploding when a Terror leapt from the ground behind her, slamming its claws against her shoulders and breaking the connection to the rift.  Talia spun, using her momentum to bring her blade about and managed to land a clean, deep hit into its arm, cutting the flesh to the bone.  It howled, rearing up to its full height, and pounced just as the other Terror leapt from the puddle under her feet. 

            _I didn't even see that one,_ she had time to think before she was flung backward, her spine colliding with the trunk of a tree with a sickening _crack_.  Her breath was gone.  Her daggers fell.  She staggered forward, on her feet but doubled over, her lungs empty.  She could feel blood running down her left arm now, the hit from the Terror bleeding through her armor.   

            When she could finally think again, it didn't last.  Her instincts screamed at her to move, to run, to grab her daggers and fight, but the lack of breath in her body wouldn't let her.  _I think I'm paralyzed_ , her brain gasped, and then the Terrors were on her. 

            She was fucked.  There was no way around it. 

            The world slowed around her in a horrible tableau of green and brown and grey.  The wind was back, whispering through the bright leaves above her head.  Sunlight again filtered down to the forest floor.  Behind her, just outside the rift's influence, she could hear nugs chittering away at each other, or so her stunned mind imagined. 

            She could almost see herself: her legs and ass braced against the tree trunk, her arms wrapped helplessly around her abdomen, blood now pouring down one shoulder.  Her daggers glinted from amidst the brush in front of her splayed boots. 

            Before her also were the Terrors, swaggering toward her with their spiky heads and elongated bodies glowing the same sickly green as the rift itself. 

_Really? The fearless Inquisitor, beaten with the wind knocked out of her?_   It seemed too cruel to be true.  As the closest demon raised its claws, the world sped back up, plunging her back into reality. 

            Something deep red leapt from among the trees around her, its body seeming unnaturally large.  _More demons?,_ she wondered before it slammed against the Terror nearest her, knocking it to the ground.  The figure kept right on going and rolled to its feet, pausing for just long enough for her oxygen-deprived mind to see the face of a lion before it was moving again.  The second Terror abandoned her, opening a puddle at its feet and dropping into the ground. 

            With a moment to recover, her fingers fumbled against her belt.  She had to have potions.No way was she dumb enough to venture into the Graves without potions.  _Then again, I'm out here without a team. Who knows what other stupid things I'll do at this point?_ But thankfully two were strapped to her waist.  She had just enough energy left to pop the cork of one and down it as she collapsed onto the ground. 

            Blackness swirled around her, pain roiling through her abdomen as her diaphragm lurched back into functionality. 

            She pushed her head up, air seeping back into her lungs, and watched the battle scene before her. 

            The lion, she quickly realized, was in fact the helmet of the warrior in front of her, a warrior whose plush maroon mantle looked achingly familiar.  _Cullen?_ His shield smashed into the Terror closest to him, stunning it backward as he spun hard.  The blade in his hand hissed through the air, severing the other Terror's body in a swift, spattering strike.  When he looked up, the first demon was gone, a slimy-looking puddle where it had fallen. 

            Green spread on the ground in front of Talia's eyes, and she heaved herself up unsteadily.  The Terror pushed through just as she grasped her blades.  Her strength was returning quickly now, the potion working.  Before her, the demon raised both clawed arms over its head, preparing to strike, when a blade pushed through its abdomen.  Its gaze dropped almost comically. 

            Talia leapt in that moment, pushing one leg hard off the tree behind her and sinking her blades through the demon's collarbones.  She pulled, her weight counterbalanced against the daggers, and kicked her boots hard into its chest.  As it fell, she ripped her daggers out and backflipped to the ground, landing with one arm braced against the forest floor. 

            She smiled.  _I've never pulled_ that _move off before._

            Heavily armored legs and booted feet appeared in front of her, and a hand reached down.  She grasped Cullen's outstretched arm and allowed him to pull her to her feet. 

            "Inquisitor," he said simply as she stood. 

            "Commander."  Their pause didn't last long -- behind Cullen, the rift snapped and popped, green lightning snaking forth and tendrils spreading out to kiss the ground again.  The Commander's head jerked around to study this development. 

            "This is normal?"  he asked finally. 

            "Yep," she said, catching her breath and skipping the question of why Cullen was there.  She started to wipe her daggers on her armor before remembering that it was covered in demon goo. 

            "Let me," he said when he'd turned back.  He took the daggers and wiped them down with the edges of his coat.  "I can do nothing for the armor though." 

            "No time anyway," she replied, accepting the blades back and twirling them around her wrists.  "Ready for round two?"  He nodded, hefting his shield back onto his left arm.  Before them, the rift tendrils solidified into pools of light.  "Hey, only seven! That's not so bad," Talia said, forcing a smile. 

            "How many were there when you started?" Cullen asked. 

            "Six," she said, turning to him, her grin now predatory. "But I was only me.  With you, this should be much easier."  With that, she leapt back into the rift's influence.  

            "If you say so, Inquisitor," Cullen replied, and he followed her.


	2. At the Rift

Talia's confidence waned in the face of the demons that spawned from the rift.  Sure, two were wraiths, which fell to smooth swings of her blades, but the rest were more powerful than any demons she'd previously faced. 

            She was suddenly even more grateful for Cullen's sudden appearance.  _Not just pretty -- he's good,_ she thought, watching him fight out of the corner of her eye.  His shield flew out as she watched, catching the rage demon he was fighting square in the chest.  It howled, its form growing taller as Cullen collected himself for another hit.  Behind him, she could just see a despair demon spin into place to attack.    

            _Gotta be fast_ , she thought, turning all her attention back to the shade she was sneaking up on.  Its hood kept it from seeing the shimmer of her stealth, and it barely made a sound when she thrust her daggers up into its back.  It fizzled out of existence, and she moved toward the next one, this time through the despair demon's line of sight. 

            She could still hear Cullen fighting, his shouts and the demon's roars blending together as they battled.  Each time he landed a blow -- even a glancing one -- the demon gained height and power, its form now towering over him.  He was holding his own though.  Talia threw herself across the field behind him just as the despair demon loosed a column of ice in his direction. 

            And it smashed into her side, dropping her to the ground with a frozen thud. 

            "Maker's balls!" she shouted, rolling onto her stomach.  Cullen stepped backward, catching the demon's claws on the edge of his blade as he did.  Its lava-red fingers were shorn off, but that didn't stop it.  He dropped to one knee, his shield flying up to protect both of them under it just as the demon's strike connected. 

            White-hot pain lanced through Cullen's arm, and he grunted but didn't drop the shield.  Heat rolled off the silverite, thawing Talia's side faster than she anticipated, and she pushed herself up. 

            "Thanks again!" She had time to say before Cullen coiled his legs under him and drove the shield up as hard as he could.  It connected with the demon's skull with a sickening crack, and it flew back, stunned.  As it caught itself,  Cullen launched himself forward, back into the fight. 

            Talia raced away to deal with the last two shades, who'd been drawn to the noise of the rage demon.  She didn't have enough powders left to lose them in stealth, nor did she have the time; Cullen would be okay as long as the rage demon was dying, but the despair demon behind him was closing in.  Glancing back, she could see it pulling in energy for another ice attack. 

            She didn't hesitate. 

            With a cry, she flung herself at the closest shade.  One blade reached out and gained purchase in its shoulder.  The momentum helped her flip over its back, her other dagger moving for its throat.  She missed though, and ended up slicing a gaping wound across its jaw.  Black blood spewed forth, the demon roaring and grabbing for her.  She dislodged her first weapon just as it spun, its arms connecting with her recently-frozen side.  She cringed back, tried to leap away but the shade caught one ankle as she jumped and threw her hard to the ground. 

            _Nice,_ her brain jeered.  _On the ground again!_  No time to think, it was on her again, now throwing itself at her with blood pouring down its front.  She slashed out, not even bothering to aim, and managed to get a lucky strike: up through its arms, severing the tendons of one elbow and leaving it hanging, useless.  Her legs found their way under her again and she dove forward, around its outstretched arm.  One last push and her dagger sank through its throat, killing it. 

            Only one more.But the throw to the forest floor had re-opened the wound from the Terror before, and her left shoulder throbbed, dribbling blood from beneath her armor.  The other shade had abandoned her for Cullen.  He, however, still appeared largely uninjured, while the rage demon was almost dead.  With a last, horrific slice that entered where its legs should have been and exited through its opposite shoulder, it exploded into a cloud of lava. Cullen's roar of triumph echoed through the Graves. 

            She raced to him as he turned to her.  "Inquisitor, are you all right?" His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. 

            "Well enough," she got out.  Her shoulder hurt more with each passing moment and her side still ached where the ice had hit her. 

            He spared a glance in her direction.  The last two demons were circling around them, waiting.  "Which wound is worst?"  He asked, hefting his shield again.  She considered a moment. 

            "My shoulder," she answered finally.  "I can barely hold my dagger."  The truth of her admission sank in, and once again she wondered why she'd headed out without her team. 

            "Any potions left?"  Cullen's voice snapped her from her thoughts. 

            "One."  She pulled the red vial from her belt, downing it swiftly.  "But it won't do enough." 

            "Back to back for these last two then," he muttered.  She moved into place, the fur of his mantle tickling her cheek.  Her shoulder stung as it stopped bleeding, but her arm felt no stronger.   Cullen seemed to notice.  "Allow me," he said and swapped his shield and sword into opposite hands.  She stared. 

            "You can do that?"  Her voice betrayed her incredulity.  Carrying a shield took far more strength and endurance than she'd ever been capable of, and for a warrior to be able to maintain that on either arm… it was a rare skill. 

            "Ambidextrous."  He winked through his helm, his face smug, and settled the shield out and slightly up, against their sides.  Her injured left shoulder was effectively covered now, but the strain on his bicep and shoulder must have been incredible. 

            "Huh," her brain got out just as the despair demon seemed to lose its patience and spun toward them.  She fumbled with her belt for a moment, finding an ice protection potion she didn't remember having a moment ago, and smashed it over them.  Its tingling blue settled down around their bodies like warm water. 

            "No rest for the wicked," he smirked, raising his sword, and they threw themselves back into battle. 

            Sensing her weakness, the despair demon focused on Talia.  It spun and leapt, never getting close enough for her blades to touch it.  Against her back, Cullen lunged and swept with his sword but never quite landed a strong hit against the remaining shade. 

            "Well, it was a good idea," she grunted as ice streamed against the shield.  She could see crystals spreading in jagged patterns; Cullen's arm had to be just about frozen. 

            "What?"  Either he hadn't heard her, or he hadn't yet understood the problem: neither of them could reach their enemies.   

            "Back to back."  She dropped into a crouch just as the despair demon fired again, the ice crashing against the inside of the shield now.  The fur of Cullen's mantle was starting to freeze.  He looked behind him in time to see her roll away and adjusted his weight back, behind the shield. 

            With a roar, he flung it forward, the muscles of his right arm bunching hard under the strain.  The blow connected solidly with the skeletal jaw of the shade before him, and it crumpled, defeated. 

            Talia was already across the field, dodging around the ice streaming from the despair demon's palms.  One shoulder drooped below the other, and she didn't seem able to raise that dagger as high, but she was still gaining ground.  

            The ice stopped as the demon pulled its arms into its chest, preparing to spin away again.  But it didn't, couldn't, as a dagger materialized from its forehead.  Talia's body felt frozen on the follow-through, her right arm still outstretched, as the demon cried out and dissolved. 

            From her peripherals, she could see Cullen staring, his jaw open.  

            Her shoulders finally slumped as the rift crashed and pulsed before her.  _It's almost over,_ her tired mind comforted her, and she forced her right arm to lift her left elbow.  As her arm rose, the Anchor crackled to life.  A stream of green lightning soared from her palm to the rift, connecting with a horrific squeal reminiscent of metal being rendered in half. 

            She pulled back, hard, her fingers digging into the flesh of her upper arm. Pain streaked up her bones.  The awful smell of singed hair flooded her nose as lightning danced up her arm, and she tried instead to focus on the feeling of weaving reality back together.  Eventually, finally, the rift exploded, sparkling green settling over the brush.  She stumbled backward with the explosion but kept her feet. 

            Panting, she finally looked for Cullen. 

            He marched across the grove toward her, sheathing his still-bloody sword as he came.  His gloved fingers caught the edge of his helm under his jaw and pulled it off in one fluid movement, discarding it on the ground.  It rolled, and its lion's mane settled into the mud, but he didn't give it a second look. 

            "Cullen! What are you--"

            His lips crashed against hers before she could get the words out. 

            For a moment, the world froze again.  His hands clutched at her jaw, her neck, pulling her lips hard against his own.  His breastplate squelched against the demonic remains covering her chest and armor, and she almost pulled back, surprised.  Then, slowly, sensation kicked back in, the warmth of his mouth and the scratch of his stubble, and her daggers slipped to the ground as she threw her arms around his shoulders.

            When she kissed him back, he made a small noise of pleasure and pulled her tighter against him.  Her fingers dug into the soft fur across his back, hauling herself onto her tiptoes to reach him better.  She had imagined this moment more times than she wanted to admit, but it had never been like this: battle-fueled, scrambling for closeness, desperate, _real_. 

            After long moments, Cullen pulled away.  There was demon blood smeared across one cheek and his smirk looked more lopsided and hesitant than usual, but he was smiling.  Talia looked up at him, her fingers unwinding from his mantle to rest on his chest, and smiled back. 

            "Hi," she said quietly. 

            "Hello," he replied, not breaking eye contact. 

            "Uh…" She hesitated.  _Should I act like that didn't just happen?_ "Ok, so yeah, um, what are you, uh, what are you doing here?" 

            "I'm here to protect you," he said, dropping his arms casually around her waist.  His words were far more put together than usual -- none of his habitual stumbling or stuttering from their previous conversations at Skyhold.

            Surprised crossed her face. "You're never in the field with me." 

            "Clearly you needed me." 

            "In more ways than one."  She looked shocked at her own boldness, but Cullen chuckled.  He leaned over, his eyes never wavering until they closed, and pressed his lips gently against hers.  She melted, felt his body take her weight as she leaned against him, and kissed him back. 

            They kissed until their breath ran out, neither pushing for more nor left wanting with less.  In that moment, it was enough, and perfect. 

            "How long have you wanted to do that?" she whispered when they finally broke apart. 

            He smirked, his scar twisting up as he gazed at her. "Longer than I should admit." 

            Warmth crashed through her body, and she hugged him close, her face pressed against his chest.  He returned the embrace, his cheek resting against the top of her head, his eyes closed. 

            Suddenly she stepped back, her hands braced against him.  His hands fell from her waist to hang awkwardly at his sides, and his face clouded. 

            "But… how did you know I needed help?" 

            "I will always protect you, no matter what happens," he said, taking her hands. 

            "Cullen, I…" A groan passed his lips then.  His eyes clenched shut, not pleasure but pain, and she froze mid-thought; his side-step of her question seemed suddenly irrelevant.  "Cullen, are you okay? Are you wounded?"  He tried to shake his head no, but couldn't quite get his muscles to comply.  "Oh, how could I have been so stupid?"  She guided him a few steps backward until he was standing in a pool of sunlight and inspected him, running her hands over his shoulders and arms, his sides and chest.  Muffled curses parted her lips as she circled him.  

            One arm -- the one that had been holding the shield, of course -- seemed much stiffer than the other.  He stood patiently even as pain flitted over his features.  Ignoring it, he tried to enjoy the attention while she buried her hands in his hair looking for an injury.  When she stepped back around and her fingers explored down over his face, he reached up and caught them in one of his hands. 

            "It's nothing a kiss won't fix," he said.  His words tumbled out, rushed together, but a smile was spreading over his handsome features. 

            She couldn't help it; something was clearly wrong, but she couldn't resist the chance to kiss him, touch him, again before something interrupted them. 

            "Oh really?" She smirked back and leaned up to meet him, her face lifted in anticipation.  More of his weight settled against her this time as he moved to meet her, but that didn't bother her in the least.  One hand reached up to tangle in his blonde hair just as his lips brushed against hers. 

            And the visage shattered before her eyes.  She sat bolt upright in her bedroll, her heart pounding.  Cassandra slept beside her, snoring softly.  The tent was chilly and her breath fogged slightly as she exhaled. 

            Then she remembered.  They had traveled to the Emerald Graves two days before, she, Dorian, Cassandra, and Cole.  The last of the lyrium smugglers had finally shown up and they were tasked with getting the final bit of information Leliana and Cullen needed to confirm Samson's location. 

            _Cullen_.  Her fingers brushed her lips, the light sensation of that last kiss still lingering.  They'd never kissed in the real world, never done anything but barely flirted.  Both of them were far too busy to sort things between them out, and with Cullen's withdrawals worsening and his obsession with Samson growing… well. It was unlikely anything would ever happen outside the Fade.  _As much as I might want it to._  

            She knew they were both too busy, both dealing with too much to consider anything remotely like a relationship.  But she was drawn to him: the concern he had for his troops, the fierce loyalty he bore Inquisition, his perseverance against lyrium, that quirky smile.  Deep down, she wanted to explore whatever was between them, responsibilities and issues be damned. 

            And yet something hadn't seemed right about him, even in the dream. 

            Next to her, Cassandra started to wake up.  "Herald? Are you all right?"  She shook her head vigorously and yawned. 

            "Cassandra," Talia acknowledged the warrior.  "We have to go back to Skyhold." 

            "We what?  It's the middle of the night! And we just got here," Cassandra groused, sitting up.  She patted at the back of her head with one hand in an attempt to tame her hair. 

            Beside her, Talia was already out of her bedroll and pulling on her boots.    "We have to go back to Skyhold," she repeated.  "Something's happened to the Commander." 


	3. Reaching Skyhold

Sure enough, one of Leliana's birds had found them on the road two days later. 

            Her message was short: _The Commander collapsed. Condition is stable but he has not yet woken. Return immediately._ Leliana's handwriting, normally tiny but impeccable, was rushed together.  Talia read her panic through those cramped lines: No one knew quite what had happened, at least not when Leliana sent the bird. 

            They rode hard, sleeping for only a few hours each night, and managed to trip back to Skyhold -- normally a ten day journey -- in just under a week.  When the fortress finally loomed on the horizon, Talia breathed a tiny sigh of relief.  At least she was there; at least now she could find out what was happening. 

            Josephine greeted the traveling party in the courtyard.  She barely gave the Inquisitor time to slide from her horse before she clutched her elbow, dragging her inside.  Behind her, Dorian took her horse's reins, face tight as he did. 

            At the entrance to the great hall, Talia finally managed to pull her arm away from her crazed ambassador. 

            "Josephine! What is going on?" she demanded.  The diplomat turned to look, her eyes wide and watery. 

            "Please, Inquisitor… Talia.  Please just come with me."  Her hands shook as she reached for Talia's arm again. 

            "Where are we going?" She asked as they set off again. 

            "Your quarters," Josephine answered without looking back.  "The Commander is there." 

\---

            Solas and Leliana stood at the foot of the Inquisitor's bed.  Leliana turned when Josephine and the Inquisitor entered the room, but Solas did not move.  His hands stretched before him, pale blue light pulsing over the body lying before him. 

            "Thank the Maker you're here," Leliana said.  She moved to hug Talia, an uncharacteristically compassionate gesture, but the Inquisitor brushed her off.  Instead, she stepped to the far side of what had been her bed and stared down. 

            Cullen lay motionless, his face slack.  His armor had been removed, and it was clear that someone had been keeping him clean, but otherwise… His hair was still combed back from his face, which Talia was sure would normally make him happy.  Now, against his pale skin, the near-perfect hair made him appear as if he were resting in a coffin.  Purple shadows decorated his skin, his eyes sunken even in sleep.  His stubble had grown unchecked, a dark, unkempt beard covering his jaw.   The years removed from his face thanks to his unfurrowed brow were countered by the waxy appearance of his skin. 

            Talia stood next to the bed, struggling to school her face into the unreadable mask of the Inquisitor.  She could feel fear and -- to her shame -- disgust contorting her features, the muscles around her mouth spasming as she fought down tears.  She would not cry. 

            "How long as he been like this?"  Her voice, to her credit, did not break. 

            "A week, Inquisitor," Leliana said quietly.  "He has not woken." 

            "Nor has his condition changed," Solas added quietly, finishing his healing spell.  He turned to Talia, his blue-grey eyes clouded.  "I have done all I can for now, and will continue to do so."  His hands folded behind his back. 

            "We must let him rest, then," she said, and stepped back from the bed. 

            "We can talk in the War Room, Inquisitor," Josephine volunteered quietly.  Talia nodded. 

            Solas spoke up.  "I will remain here, in case.  Varric should be back momentarily as well." 

            "Varric?" 

            "He has been reading to the Commander.  Reports, novels, things of that nature."  Talia nodded, and followed the two women down the stairs. 

            Cassandra was waiting near the door to the great hall.  "How is he?"

            Talia started to answer but Leliana cut her off. "We should not discuss it here. Come, Cassandra, Inquisitor."  The four headed through Josephine's office.  As they walked, Cassandra threaded her arm through the Inquisitor's, squeezing gently.  Talia said nothing, but her eyes welled up at the comfort. 

            There was a moment of silence as Leliana checked the magical seals on the doors to be sure no sound could escape. When she nodded the all clear, Talia spoke. 

            "Tell me what happened."  Her voice was still calm, her face impassive, but the tears in her eyes were threatening to spill over. 

            "I will," Josephine volunteered.  The ambassador's voice was quiet as she told the story, and Leliana stood close by her side. 

            "A few nights after you left, the Commander passed through my office on his way to the War Room.  We spoke only a little -- he did not look like he felt well, but insisted he needed to check something about troop movements before he retired for the evening.  I was still up, working on a new contract with a Rivani merchant, so I didn't think anything of his passing through.  About ten minutes later, I heard a crash." 

            She took a deep, wavering breath before continuing.  Leliana tucked an arm around her waist.  "He'd collapsed.  I barely had the door open before I saw him unconscious on the floor, and I ran for Solas.  He came immediately, and asked that I get the Iron Bull to help move the Commander.  I did, but Cullen was so pale…" She started to cry in earnest now, and Leliana took over. 

            "Solas treated the Commander here first before we moved him upstairs.  Josie and I stayed at his side, talking to him while he worked. When he was done…" She trailed off, looking toward the door, and Talia turned.  She hadn't noticed, but Solas had stepped into the room behind her. 

            Once the door was closed, Solas began speaking.  "The Commander had a blood clot in his brain, Inquisitor."  Talia, who until now had been clutching her arms to her chest, felt her knees go faint.  She dropped a hand to the edge of the war table, propping herself up.  Cullen was so strong, even against his lyrium withdrawals, what had gone wrong?  She couldn't muster the strength to ask the question, but thankfully Cassandra did. 

            "Explain," she grunted, her accent hiding the pain in her voice. 

            Solas inclined his head.  "Lyrium is a bloodthinner.  As he purges the lyrium from his system, his blood thickens, just a little.  Normally this would cause no issue nor noticeable effect, but the Commander had been getting sicker due to his withdrawals.  The day you left, he came to me, asking for a nausea remedy.  When I provided one, he revealed he hadn't been able to keep anything down for almost three prior days." 

            The elf kept his hands folded behind him as he continued.  "As a result, he was extremely dehydrated the day he collapsed.  I believe these symptoms combined to form a clot, which traveled to his brain." 

            "Andraste preserve us…" Cassandra murmured.  Josephine's crying intensified, but both Leliana and the Inquisitor remained expressionless. 

            "Were you able to remove it?"  Talia asked carefully, forcing her emotions back down. 

            "After some efforts, yes.  Due to Lady Montilyet's quick actions, I believe the clot was only in place for about 20-30 minutes.  I was able to remove it with only a few minutes of work, though even that amount of time can cause severe damage to the brain." 

            "And now?" 

            "We have rehydrated him and healed as much as we can with potions and magic.  At this point, there is little else to be done.  I have continued to cast over him each day, and Varric makes sure he gets enough water.  We can do nothing else but wait." 

            Talia closed her eyes for a moment, pain washing over her.  _What if…_ A sob welled up, and it was only with great effort that she choked it down. Next to her, Cassandra was muttering the Chant to herself, her eyes pressed shut.  Leliana was murmuring to Josephine, who had stopped crying by now. 

            "What is his prognosis?"  she finally made herself ask. 

            For the first time, Solas looked uncomfortable.  "Unknown, Inquisitor.  He may never wake up.  Or he could wake tomorrow.  If he wakes, he may be permanently handicapped or incapacitated.  He may wake and return to full health."  He swallowed carefully.  "There is no way of knowing."  Talia started to speak but the elf interrupted her quietly.  "The only thing we know is this: The longer he sleeps, the less likely he is to wake." 

            Her words died on her lips. 

            Eventually, she spoke.  "Who is with him now?" she asked, extricating her arm from Cassandra's grip. 

            "Varric.  When he arrived, I moved to join you here." 

            "Then I will join him.  Everyone else… please do what you can to keep the Inquisition running in the Commander's absence."  Leliana and Josephine nodded quickly, Josephine brushing tears away.  Talia turned to the Seeker.  "Cassandra, can you take over Cullen's military duties for the time being?" 

            The Seeker nodded.  "Gladly. Though I would not wish it as a permanent position." 

            "Nor would any of us," Talia answered, and swept from the room.

\---

            Talia heard Varric long before she reached the top of the steps into her quarters.  His gruff voice carried in the big room, and it didn't take her long to realize he was reading from his _Tale of the Champion._  

            Varric was seated on the couch near her bed.  He craned his head to smile at her over his shoulder when she stopped at the top of the stairs, a quick acknowledgement that she was there.  His voice never stopped though, and as Talia listened, she realized he was reading a section about one of Cullen and Hawke's various interactions.  This one was about the Blooming Rose, a whorehouse in Kirkwall, but Varric seemed to be focusing on how Cullen insisted on speaking to the women there as if they were high-born ladies. 

            She let his words wash over her for a few minutes, enjoying this look at her stoic Commander.  She'd never read the _Tale_ , nor had she pressed Cullen for details about what happened in Kirkwall, and even though she knew Varric tended to exaggerate… well, it was entertaining, to say the least. 

            When one of the women in the story propositioned Cullen, turning him into an embarrassed, stammering mess, Talia couldn't help but laugh out loud.  Varric chuckled too, and closed the book. 

            "See, Curly," he said to the man lying on the bed.  "You've made the Inquisitor laugh! You! Isn't that worth waking up for?"  He stared at Cullen hopefully and Talia felt grief wash over her again.  She patted Varric on the shoulder as she sat down beside him. 

            "He'll wake up, Varric," she said, trying to smile again. "If only to correct whatever mistakes you've written about him in that book." 

            Varric smiled back at her, but she could see his concern in the lines around his eyes, lines that weren't normally there. 

            "I'm sure you're right, Sunburst," he said. "And I'm glad you're back to see him, too.  He'd be happy you're here." 

            "I hope so," she said quietly, shifting to look at Cullen lying in her bed.  She could just see his eyes shifting under their lids, and she started up, hope filling her. 

            Varric's hand on her arm stopped her.  "He's dreaming, Sunburst,"  he told her gently. "It's happened a few times, but he never wakes up.  I've wondered if…"

            "Is he still in there?"  Her wide eyes never left Cullen's closed ones. 

            "I… I like to think so, yes. Chuckles is non-committal." 

            She nodded, and the tears that had been threatening for days finally slipped down her face.  Everything poured out of her in a rush, and Varric put his book down to reach out to her.  She slipped sideways on the couch, and he enveloped her in a hug, her hands pressed over her face.  Patting her gently as she shook, he rocked her gently, his voice soothing. 

            " Shhh… It's okay. It's going to be okay, Sunburst… Curly's strong, he'll come out of this… It's okay…"  Talia cried for long enough that the light in the room started to fade.  The whole time, Varric didn't move, just kept his arms around her and whispered in her ear. 

            When her sobs slowed, the Inquisitor shifted against the cushions but didn't get up.  Her hands fell away from her face, revealing the salt trails that stained her swollen cheeks. 

            "What if… Varric, what if he dies?" She exhaled slowly, tears welling up again, and the dwarf's arm tightened around her. 

            "He won't." 

            "But what if he does?" The pitch of her voice rose as tears started again.  "Maker, what will I do? How will I…" She caught herself, her breath hitching against her tears as she realized her mistake. 

            The dwarf smiled gently. "How you feel isn't news to me, Sunburst," he said kindly.  "And I stand by my earlier declaration.  He won't die."  She shifted to look up at him, her eyes red. 

            "What makes you so sure?" The accusing tone in her voice came out without her even realizing, and she tried to bite it back. 

            "Because," Varric said, ignoring the potential barb. "I just do.  He'll wake up and you'll be there, and then the two of you will go off and make lots of pretty, curly-haired Inquisition babies." 

            The snort of laughter that forced itself out of Talia surprised her so much, she started hiccupping.  Varric laughed at that, and released her so she could sit all the way up.  As she straightened and reached to tug at her armor, he surreptitiously wiped his eyes. 

            "You okay?" he asked carefully.  Talia didn't answer; her eyes had strayed back to her bed, back to Cullen's dark face.  His eyes had stopped moving, but little else had changed. 

            Varric started to ask again but Talia spoke.  "I will be when he's back," she said quietly.  She nodded, almost to herself, and stood from the couch.  "Thanks, Varric.  I should take off my armor, and then I'll keep watch for a while." 

            The dwarf nodded.  "You need any help?" She shook her head.  "Then I'll keep reading until you're ready.  Take your time."  He picked the book back up and flipped through it until he found another story worth telling. 

            Talia walked toward her washroom, trying to hold her breath to get rid of her hiccups.  Behind her, Varric's voice filled her quarters again.  This story, again focused on Cullen, seemed to recount the first time he met one of Hawke's companions, a woman named Isabela.  As she worked the straps on her armor loose, she tossed the pieces aside in the haphazard way she knew made Cullen grind his teeth whenever he visited her quarters.  _Maybe if I annoy him enough, he'll wake up_.  The thought, ridiculous as it was, make her smile a bit, and she chucked her boots further across her quarters. 

            The thump as they hit the ground made Varric look up, but again, he didn't stop reading.  She smiled, and she could see the dwarf chuckle to himself.

            Armor removed, she ducked into the bathroom to wash her face and change her clothes.  Varric's voice seeped back into her consciousness; he seemed to be describing this Isabela's clothing in great detail, and judging from the outfit, she moonlighted as a prostitute. 

            Cullen had apparently agreed, she discovered as she emerged, still tying her dark hair back. Her soft beige leggings squeezed her with the comfort of home, and she considered running off to visit the Commander for a split second before she remembered.  With a sigh, and still listening to Varric, she circled the broad desk in the corner of her room.  It was piled high with missives and reports for her to read, but the dates abruptly stopped the day after Cullen had collapsed.  She almost felt better knowing that Inquisition business came second to the Commander's illness. 

            Talia was just wondering where to begin on the reports when a new voice interrupted Varric's. 

            "Trying to embarrass the Commander into waking, child of the stone?" Solas had stepped in quietly, carrying a tray of food and a satchel slung across his chest. 

            Varric smirked up at him, stopping his description of poor Cullen's bumbling through what sounded like a strongly innuendo-laden conversation with Isabela. 

            "Yeah, I was kinda hoping, Chuckles.  Think it will work?" 

            Solas ignored him, instead moving toward Talia's desk.  The rich smells of roasted meat and buttery pastries rose off the platter, and her stomach suddenly rumbled back to life. 

            "Josephine suggested I bring you something to eat when I came up to check on things, Inquisitor," he said, setting the tray down.  She thanked him, glad to have another distraction. 

            "Any changes?"  He then asked, depositing the satchel on the floor next to the bed.  The potions inside made a soft clink as he removed them, setting two health potions, one regeneration potion, and -- to Talia's surprise -- a bottle of fine Antivan wine on the bedside table.  Solas noticed her face and smiled.  "The wine is for you, Inquisitor," he told her softly before leaning over Cullen's prone form. 

            She stood up and moved to sit at the foot of the bed.  Solas moved carefully as he picked up the Commander's wrist to take a pulse, brushed open an eyelid to check his pupils, and finally bent to press an ear to his chest, listening to the soft sounds of him breathing.  Satisfied that nothing had changed, for better or worse, he uncorked a health potion. 

            "Varric, can you assist me again?" 

            The dwarf cringed and looked away. "Haven't you figured out a way to do this yourself?" he asked, and Talia was surprised to hear the disgust in his voice. 

            "It is far easier with aid, my friend," Solas said.  He straightened up, turning to look Varric in the eye. 

            "It's just… No, Solas, I don't think I can do it again. You know how…" he trailed off, his eyes drifting to the Inquisitor.  Talia cocked her head at him, the question plain on her face. 

            Solas answered for him.  "We need to get the Commander to swallow at least one of these potions.  I do not want to provide them intravenously for fear of hurting him somehow after the clot.  It is… not pleasant."  His voice hesitated just a little, and Talia could see just how uncomfortable this must be. 

            "I'll do it," she volunteered.  Varric shuddered. 

            "This is my cue," he said, standing up off the sofa.  "Sunburst, I'm going to leave the _Tale_ here in case you want to read to him.  It's not a bad story." He winked at her.  "I'll come back later to bring extra blankets and check on you."  Before she could say anything, he practically ran down the stairs, the echo of the door closing behind him drifting back up. 

            Talia turned back to the elf.  "What am I doing exactly?"  Solas explained what he needed help with as she shifted up the bed into position. 

            "So… I just hold his nose?"  She asked anxiously, her hand hovering over the Commander's shoulder, unsure what to do. 

            Solas nodded.  "Yes. When I pour the potion in his mouth, I will close his jaw.  With his airways closed, he will involuntarily swallow." 

            "Why do you need help then?" 

            Solas frowned at this.  "He is a soldier, and his instincts as such are honed for survival.  The first time I tried this, he twitched out of my hands and required quick spellcasting to keep the liquid out of his lungs.  I have since enlisted Varric's help and avoided this, but he finds it distasteful to watch." 

            Now Talia was nervous.  Her hand dropped.  "Why, um… why, exactly?" 

            "He moves.  That seems to bother Varric, especially when the Commander continues to sleep."  His voice lowered, and he spoke gently.  "I understand, Inquisitor, if you would prefer not to participate." 

            It was only then that Talia realized she had been unconsciously running her fingers through Cullen's hair.  The second she noticed, she stopped, but she instantly missed how soft it was. 

            "No, I'll help."  She mentally shook herself and tried to smile.  The elf nodded. 

            "Place your hand here," he said, moving her right hand carefully to touch Cullen's face.  "Pinch enough that his nose is closed but not enough to hurt him," he instructed, and Talia nodded.  Carefully, she pinched his nostrils shut as Solas gently opened his mouth. 

            With a look to make sure she was ready, Solas poured about a quarter of the thick red potion into Cullen's mouth.  His other hand pressed his jaw closed.  Cullen twitched, hard, his head turning, but Talia and Solas both kept their grips.  His Adam's apple shifted as he swallowed a moment later.  Solas removed his hand, and the Commander's jaw fell back, his mouth opening. 

            "Don't let go of his nose," Solas said quickly before she could move.  "We have to repeat this process until the potion is gone."  Talia swallowed and nodded.  Varric was right -- this wasn't exactly enjoyable.  Her marked hand dropped to Cullen's side and her fingers intertwined with his.  She squeezed and nodded again. 

            "I'm ready," she told Solas. 

            In the end, they repeated the process five more times, administering the regeneration potion as well.  Cullen continued to twitch, but his movements lessened as Talia kept a tight hold on his hand. 

            When they finished, Solas thanked her for her help.  "He was much calmer today.  Perhaps he is attuned to the mark on your hand," he told her. His tone suggested it was her contact and not just the mark that had helped, but there was no judgment in his voice.  "Would you be willing to help again tomorrow?" 

            Talia nodded, though she wasn't eager to repeat the process.  Giving Cullen's hand a last squeeze, she let go and stood up. 

            "Will this help him get better?" 

            "It should," Solas said as he repeated his checks of Cullen's pulse, pupils, and breathing.  "As I said before, Inquisitor, it is hard to predict what will happen."  He avoided her eyes as he finished.  "You should eat something." 

            "I will," she said, but she didn't move toward the platter of food on her desk.  There was a long moment of silence as she studied Cullen, and Solas studied her. 

            Finally the elf sighed.  "May I ask a favor?" 

            She looked up, her eyes bright. "Of course." 

            "Rebuild the fire?"  He gestured across the room, and Talia's heart dropped.  She let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding -- she had hoped he was going to ask something more related to helping Cullen -- and nodded. 

            "Of course."  She busied herself at the hearth, dragging sweet-smelling logs onto the low flames and adding kindling until it was roaring again.  The heat in the room noticeably increased.  Behind her, blue and green light washed over the bed, and as she brushed her hands clean, she turned to watch. 

            Solas was casting spells over the Commander, his hands moving gracefully through the air as he muttered enchantments.  The low elvhen words he used were still incomprehensible to her, but she recognized the sounds of the healing spells he so often employed on the battlefield.  The purple light of a rejuvenation aura settled over the bed then, and Solas's hands stilled. 

            "There is little else I can do for now," he said, answering her unspoken question. 

            "Do they help?"  She stepped back to his bedside opposite the mage and stared down at Cullen's still-ashen face. 

            "I… am not sure, Inquisitor."  As he spoke, Cullen's eyes started moving rapidly under his lids.  His mouth moved, quiet unintelligible words slipping out as he dreamed.  Solas immediately turned to him, listened for a moment, and then cast again quickly. 

            A dark blue flash washed over the bed, taking all sound out of the room for a moment -- the fire stopped crackling, the wind outside stopped moving, her breath made no noise as it left her -- until it hit the floor and disintegrated into pale sparkles.  Sound rushed back, and Talia realized just how much ambient noise there had been.   Before them, Cullen stopped whispering and his eyes stilled. 

            "What just happened?" she asked quietly. 

            "I believe he was having a nightmare," Solas replied, now casting a peace aura over the Commander.  "The dispel should have eased it."  He looked up at her wide eyes.  "It has happened before, Inquisitor." 

            "And he is…?"

            "He is in the Fade, somewhere.  I assume he has been there since he collapsed."  Solas studied her face for a moment before opening his mouth to speak.  "How did you know to return, might I ask?" 

            Talia frowned down at the bed,  her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.  With what felt like a burst of daring, she leaned forward and took Cullen's hand in hers again.  "I had a dream," she said finally, not looking at the elf.  "I was in the Emerald Graves, fighting a rift.  Cullen showed up to help me.  At the end… he didn't look like he felt well, but he kissed me… and I woke up."  She looked up at Solas now.  "I… knew, somehow, that something had happened." 

            The elf had been watching her closely as she spoke.  Now, his blue eyes darkened and his eyebrows rose.  Quickly, he gathered his satchel.  "We will talk more in the morning, Inquisitor," he said, heading for the stairs.  "Let me know if anything changes." 

            "Wait, Solas…" She made to stand.  "Where are you going?" 

            "To look for the Commander in the Fade," he said, and was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of research and was unable to figure out if lyrium is *actually* a bloodthinner, so I guess that's my own head-canon. Dehydration, if severe enough, can cause clots too, so if you can't get behind lyrium causing it, use that :) 
> 
> Also: I have no idea if that swallowing thing actually works, but it shows up in fiction/movies all the time, so I'm going with it.


	4. Around Skyhold

The cloying smell of spicy cologne woke her the next morning.  She jerked up off the bed only to have her muscles scream in protest, and she realized she had fallen asleep at Cullen's bedside.  Sitting all the way up, she rubbed her neck and looked around for the smell.  A blanket fell from her shoulders to puddle on the floor. 

            Dorian sat on the white couch next to her, casually reading a book about Chantry lore as if there was nothing unusual about him being in her quarters.  When he noticed her sitting up, he closed the book and smiled brightly at her. 

            "Good morning, darling," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.  "Sleep well?" 

            "You know the answer to that, Dorian," she grumbled and tried to stand up.  Her legs hadn't quite agreed to this request yet, and she fell heavily back into her seat.  Dorian watched, amused. 

            "Of course I do, but it is the polite way to begin a morning, don't you agree?"  When Talia didn't answer, Dorian stood to offer her a hand.  She accepted and after a moment of stretching made it all the way out of her seat, her back stiff. 

            "Thanks," she mumbled.  Light streamed through the stained glass windows of her quarters, catching the Inquisition symbols that adorned them in a myriad of colors.  The fire had burned down overnight, the only change in the room.  Before them, Cullen slept on. 

            "Any change in our friend?" Dorian asked, gesturing to the bed. 

            She shook her head.  "Varric brought me some blankets so I could sleep on the couch.  I guess I fell asleep in my chair though." 

            "I'm sure that had nothing to do with the hand-holding I witnessed this morning."  Dorian's eyebrows quirked up and he smiled knowingly at her. 

            She groaned and rubbed her eyes.  "Does everyone in Skyhold know about my crush on the Commander?"  she demanded, too tired to deny it.

            He laughed.  "Only the worthy ones, my dear.  Now, let's get you some breakfast and perhaps a bath.  No offense, but you clearly did not bathe when we returned yesterday."  His careful eye ranged over her clothes and he tugged her tunic down to smooth out the wrinkles. 

            "I can have food sent up," she said  and stretched again.     

            "Not a chance."  He gestured to her tray from the night before.  It sat untouched on her desk.  Even the bottle of wine was still sealed.  "And it's a waste not to drink good wine, especially when it's a gift from your best friend," he said, winking. 

            "Sorry," she offered. 

            "Perfectly all right, dear."  He swept around the bed to gather up the wine he'd sent and returned to settle on the couch.  "Now. I'll keep watch over our dear Commander, and you will go downstairs and have breakfast." 

            "No, Dorian, I'm not leaving." 

            Staring at her over his once again open book, Dorian's face hardened.  "Talia," he began seriously.  "You cannot waste away by his bedside, feelings or no." 

            "I'm not wasting away, I'm keeping watch," she countered, making a dismissive gesture.

            "My dear, appearances must be maintained.  You know as well as I that the Inquisition must carry on, and that means the Inquisitor must be visible." 

            "Fuck appearances," she said viciously.  "Dorian, What if something happens and I'm not here?  What if he--" Her voice rose as she spoke, but she couldn't force out the last few words.  Tears threatened again, and she dropped onto the foot of the bed, her face buried in her hands. 

            Dorian was by her side in a moment, his book abandoned.  "He won't die," he said quietly, and slid an arm around her shoulders to pull her close.  She surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. 

            "I want to believe that," she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.  He hugged her back for a moment before pulling away. 

            "And you should.  Between you returning to Skyhold to see him, Varric spreading those ridiculous stories about him, and my illustrious presence, he should be awake in no time.  Anywhere else must be terribly boring in comparison." 

            A small smile crept across her face, and Dorian continued, encouraged.  "Cassandra returned with us too.  Perhaps we can bring her up to berate him into waking." 

            Talia laughed in spite of herself.  "I know that would scare me into waking up," she said. 

            "Plus, he still hasn't kissed you," Dorian added, giving her a significant look.  "That alone would be worth waking up for." 

            "Don't start, Dorian," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'll go 'maintain appearances' just to avoid that conversation again."  She got up. 

            Dorian gave an exaggerated sigh.  "I speak the truth, and yet you do not listen."  He stood next to her.  "Very well, go eat.  I'll keep watch until you return."  His voice suggested that he was conceding defeat with her leaving , but Talia knew he was pleased.  With one last look to the bed, she walked down the stairs. 

            Dorian settled back onto the couch and opened his book once more. 

\---

            Thick gray porridge congealed in the bowl before her, and she couldn't bring herself to eat it.  Dorian had woken her far later into the morning than she'd realized, so there was no coffee left.  She sighed, picking up her spoon again only to stare at the sludge dribbling off the end of it.  Thoroughly disgusted, she tossed the spoon back into the bowl, where it remained atop her breakfast, floating like one of the corpses from the Fallow Mire. 

            Around her, the great hall buzzed with activity.  Soldiers marched in and out, their speculations about their missing Commander reaching her ears despite their muted tones.  Here and there flitted Leliana's scouts, surely collecting information overheard from the gaggles of nobles that hung about the hall.  At the far end sat Varric, his quill moving as he hurriedly wrote something before his mind lost it.  He'd given her a small wave when she walked in, but hadn't moved otherwise. 

            She sighed again, and considered the bowl before her.  The spoon had sunk, leaving a tiny tunnel burrowed through the grains.  She hesitantly reached out a finger to poke it, pulling back in revulsion when it jiggled under her touch. 

            "You know," a voice interrupted her. "I can't say I recommend eating that." 

            She looked up to find Iron Bull standing before her, his face a mirror of hers as he studied her porridge.  When she met his eyes, he grinned down at her and extended a hand.  "Why not come with me, and we'll get you a real breakfast?"  He asked.  Talia was only too happy to accept, and she jumped up. 

            They meandered through the hall, gathering Leliana and Varric as they walked, before heading to the tavern.  There, Sera joined them at a low table in the back, and Iron Bull quickly put Cabot to work fixing the Inquisitor a decent breakfast. 

            The four of them kept Talia occupied for more than an hour while she ate, and she couldn’t have been more grateful.  They ignored her bloodshot eyes and quiet demeanor, instead choosing to entertain her as much as possible.  Leliana said little, only occasionally moving to stare down anyone who wanted to speak to the Inquisitor, but Bull and Sera told all the raunchy stories they could think of.  Talia couldn't help but wonder if they ever took a break from their sexual escapades as she listened over her plate of scrambled eggs and venison sausage, but she didn't ask.  Bull vanished as soon as his story was done, but Varric jumped in to fill the void, telling some ridiculous story about Hawke and determinedly skipping over any mention of Cullen.  Sera started babbling questions about Hawke's availability the moment Varric was finished, and Talia barely listened, her interest waning. 

            After about ten minutes, Bull reappeared with a steaming mug of coffee, which he placed in front of Talia.  When she asked where he got it, he winked with his one good eye. 

            "Dorian's personal stash," he grinned, and wouldn't say more.  She sipped slowly, her energy returning, and rubbed at her sore neck and shoulders.  Bull had taken over story-telling duties again, this time reveling in the tale of  the Chargers taking down their first dragon.  As they listened, Sera leaned against her and tucked her arm around Talia's waist. 

            "Head up, Inky," she whispered, so low Talia almost didn’t hear her over Bull's antics. "General Uptight will be ok. That's how things are, go bad and then get better.  Be fine."  Her arm tightened, and Talia leaned against her, grateful for the support. 

            "Need a massage, yeah?" Sera piped up when Talia rubbed her sore muscles again. 

            "No, I'm fine," Talia replied. Not one of them mentioned her sudden resemblance to their Commander with her hand cupped against her neck, and once again she felt a flood of gratefulness wash over her. 

            The group sat for a while longer, Talia sipping her coffee as Bull, Sera, and Varric started a casual game of Wicked Grace.  Sera had abandoned her side and Leliana sat in her place, blessedly silent but no less compassionate.  The tension was finally seeping from Talia's muscles when Cole suddenly appeared on the table, upsetting the game and sending Sera into a fit of near-hysterics.  Next to her, Leliana's hand flew to one of her concealed daggers. 

            "I want to help," Cole said, his too-pale eyes finding Talia from under the brim of his hat.  He didn't move, even when Bull stood to calm Sera or Varric reached out to grasp his arm.  Talia couldn't look away. 

            "You are scared, and I want to help," Cole repeated.  His low voice sent chills through her, and she was unable to keep her thoughts from flying to Cullen, remembering his still form next to her that morning.  "Fear, overwhelming and damp, dark, a blanket over the senses.  Won't give in, can't show it, can't cry.  Strong, like him. So much fear… like sulfur, frozen like ice, no thawing until relief but--" Leliana lunged for the spirit-boy just as Varric tugged him off the table.  They ended up in a pile on the floor, while Leliana stood over them, one dagger brandished.  

            "Get out," she growled at the spirit.  Her hood had fallen back, her red hair like fire as her eyes flashed with anger. 

            Cole gazed calmly up at her. "I only wanted to help, and I couldn't," he whispered, and vanished. 

Neither Leliana, focused on Cole with a frightening intensity, nor Varric, pinned on the floor, noticed that the Inquisitor had leapt to her feet when Cole started his strange soliloquy.  She backed away from where he had stood, right into Bull's chest. 

            "Boss, I'm sorry…" he raised his hands to squeeze her shoulders, but she spun away, a noise of anguish pulling from her throat.

            "Quizzie!" Sera's shout followed her from the tavern as she ran, but she didn't slow down. 

            She wove through Skyhold, tears streaming down her face.  More than a few surprised soldiers leapt out of her way, but she didn't even notice, couldn't see them through her fear.  The courtyard door slammed on its hinges as she wrenched it open, stumbling through into the near-empty gardens.  But she didn't stop.  Despite their tranquil atmosphere, the gardens held too many reminders of her Commander: the table where they played chess, the bench where she sometimes napped and where Cullen always seemed to find her, the tiny Chantry where she knew he prayed when nightmares woke him. 

            It was toward that Chantry that she ran.  Despite her status as Herald, few of her soldiers seemed to frequent it, instead preferring to pray with Mother Giselle out in the garden itself.  At times she'd wondered about this, but this was not one of those times. 

            The small chapel was deserted, the statue of Andraste towering over nothing but fallen candles and broken pews.  Morning sunlight barely penetrated through the dusty stained glass, leaving the chapel dark and cool.  Talia pushed past all that to clamber behind the statue.  She sank to her knees there, tears streaming down her face and her hands clasped  tightly. 

            Cassandra found her there almost an hour later.  Her forehead was leaned against the smooth stone of Andraste's skirts, her jaw slack.  She was asleep.  Even thus, her mouth moved around the words of the Chant, their soothing tone running together in her dreams.  Tears still shimmered on her cheeks; she hadn't been sleeping for long. 

            For a moment, Cassandra hesitated in front of the statue, not sure if she should wake the Inquisitor or leave her to her hard-won peace.  She knew Talia hadn't slept well -- Dorian had told her about Talia's morning when she'd stopped by to check on Cullen.  In addition, Talia had once confided her growing feelings about the Commander to Cassandra, so she knew how difficult this situation must be. 

            After a few minutes, she knelt beside her and spoke softly.  "Herald?  Herald…" She reached out and gently brushed the Inquisitor's shoulder.  Talia jerked awake, her eyes suddenly wide and scanning.  Cassandra watched as first confusion, then recognition, and finally fear moved across her face.  "I am sorry to wake you," she said softly. 

            "Cassandra… it's all right." She rubbed her face, turning away when she realized it was still damp.  "How did you know where I was?" 

            Cassandra sat beside her.  "Dorian said you'd gone to get breakfast, and then Leliana found me as I was headed to the tavern.  She said… Cole upset you."  Talia heard her hesitate at Cole's name and wondered what, exactly, Leliana had told her. 

            "I didn't… he is not… Oh, Maker take him, he's right," she whispered into her hands, and she felt Cassandra's hand tighten on her shoulder. 

            "You have every right to be afraid," Cassandra said matter-of-factly.    

            Talia looked up.  "I'm the Inquisitor, Cassandra. The Herald.  I must be strong for everyone else." 

            "Perhaps, yes," the Seeker acknowledged.  "But we are all scared.  Your Inner Circle, Leliana, Josephine… none of us know any better than you what will happen."

            Talia sniffed and wiped at her eyes.  "Dorian said I needed to maintain appearances." 

            Cassandra avoided her eyes for a moment.  "The Inquisition must continue, with or without its Commander," she said carefully. 

            "And I have to lead them!"

            "And you are."  Now the Seeker raised her eyes to meet Talia's, her mouth a hard line. 

            Talia just snorted. "Yes, from my position crying on the floor of the Chantry."  Cassandra ignored this. 

            "Think of Cullen's soldiers," she began. "They have been without their Commander for more than a week, with no information on his return.  They are scared already.  Seeing you fear too… it inspires them to be strong even as they want to give in.  They see you keep going, see your fear even as you lead, and they see that you are human." 

            When she was finished speaking, Cassandra stood and extended a hand to the Inquisitor.  Talia stared at it for a long moment, debating whether or not to get up. 

            "Are you sure?" 

            "I am.  Just as I am sure that Cullen will wake." 

            Talia drew a shaky breath.  "Okay."  She reached for Cassandra's hand, allowing the Seeker to help her up.  Cassandra stood quietly by as she climbed out from behind the statue and fiddled with her clothes, trying to make herself presentable.  When she seemed ready to go, the two women headed toward the main hall. 

            "Solas asked that I send you to your quarters, Herald," Cassandra said quietly as they stepped through the heavy wooden door.  "I will walk with you, but then I must tend to the soldiers."  Talia nodded. 

            When they reached the door to her quarters, they found the elf waiting for them. 

            "Ah, Inquisitor, Seeker.  Good morning," he greeted them and looked to Talia. "I am glad to see you.  Might we speak in private?"  Cassandra took her leave and the elf held the door open for Talia. 

            "Any luck, Solas?"

            "Perhaps, Inquisitor," he answered, leading her up the stairs.  "I believe I may have found where the Commander sleeps." 


	5. In Her Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! School started again in the last few weeks and I've been swamped under the sudden requirements of teaching and sleeping enough and all that. 
> 
> Plus, this chapter was rough to write. Hopefully it turned out okay.   
> On the plus side, the ones after this should be easier, and one of them is already written! Hooray! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

Dorian took one look at their faces as they entered and put his book aside.  He did not leap to his feet -- his flair for the dramatic did not include already dramatic circumstances -- but he did move over on the couch to make room for his best friend. 

            Talia sank next to him, looking exhausted.   The red in her eyes had lessened somewhat but her face was still drawn, the hints of wrinkles across her forehead and around her mouth deeper as she frowned.  Her normally careful makeup had smeared, with smudges on her cheeks hinting at her recent tears. 

            Dorian reached out to take her hand as Solas repeated his checks over Cullen once again.  They watched him flit about the bed, mumbling notes to himself as he moved, for a few moments in silence. 

            Then Dorian spoke.  "Did you get the coffee I sent?" 

            She squeezed his hand, her eyes not leaving the prone figure on her bed.  "Yes, thank you.  Though Iron Bull brought it to me…" 

            Dorian winked but didn't elaborate.  "Did it help?" 

            "A little," she admitted.  "But Cole found us in the tavern." 

            He didn't have to ask what that meant.  As useful as he found Cole when the qunari was nearby, Dorian himself was always a little unnerved to find his most private, intimate thoughts voiced for all to hear.  It did not make for comfortable… anything, really. 

            Likely summoned from Dorian's musings, Cole materialized on the bed.  Solas didn't even blink, but Dorian flinched.  Talia was too tired to be surprised. 

            Just like before, Cole's eyes found Talia's.  "So much fear…" he began, and she cringed back, her face tightening.  "No thawing until relief, but there is no one else to be strong now. It must be me." 

            "Yes, Cole," she said quietly.  "It must be me." 

            The spirit-boy stood off the bed and stopped in front of her, staring down with his wide eyes unblinking.  "I can help," he offered.  "If I know where to look, I can find him." 

            At this, Solas looked up.  "Cole… you find him?"

            The boy's eyes rolled up in his head for a moment before he vanished and reappeared just to the side of Cullen's head.  "Afraid, darkness closing in and no time left.  Thoughts of her, of warmth and sunshine and laughter.  Who will protect her? Suffocating, numb, can't move.  Oh Maker, why didn't I kiss her? Then nothing, and quiet." 

            Talia stood carefully as he spoke, dropping Dorian's hand as she was drawn toward Cole.  His eyes lifted from Cullen's face to hers with his last words.  Dorian and Solas exchanged quick looks, unsure what to do. 

            Tears were streaming down her face, but oddly enough, she was smiling.  "You sent me that dream, didn't you," Talia said quietly, her voice steady.  "You heard his last thoughts as he fell…"

            "He wanted to say it but he couldn't," Cole said softly.  "I wanted to help." 

            "Fascinating," Solas said, almost to himself, and Talia jumped.  She forgotten the other two men were there.  Quickly she reached up to wipe her face. 

            Cole's words had filled her with the unmistakable warmth of hope.  Cullen had wanted to kiss her, and even if his thought ended in silence, he had to be there, somewhere.  Her dream had been real, at least on some level, and that future was one worth hanging onto. 

            Behind her, Dorian laid a gently hand on her shoulder.  "Talia, darling…" he trailed off, uncertain of what to say.  Before them, Cole's eyes moved between Talia and Cullen, wringing his hands and muttering under his breath.  Solas stepped closer to him and extended a hand. 

            "Come, Cole," he said, and the spirit boy reached for him. "We must talk about finding the Commander."  He led Cole over to the fireplace and they sat; Solas gestured over his shoulder for Talia to join them. 

            She and Dorian moved, but Talia did not sit down. 

            "You said you found him, Solas," she said. "But Cole said he can help find him.  What does that mean?" 

            Solas looked up at her seriously.  "Inquisitor, thanks to your mention of the dream, I explored the Fade of the Emerald Graves as much as I could.  I can sense the Commander there, but I cannot locate him precisely.  If Cole can help us, we may be able to ascertain his exact whereabouts."

            "How do we do that?" 

            " Reaching him in the Fade will require a better handle on his emotions and on why he ended up where he did. To understand that, I need to know everything about your dream," the mage said, and Talia blanched.  Next to her, Dorian put his hand on her arm. 

            "Surely this can wait an hour, Solas?"  He asked quietly, squeezing Talia as he spoke.  "The poor Inquisitor has had a rough time since she returned to Skyhold and I'm sure she could use some time to relax.  Perhaps a bath.  And the Commander needs his potions." 

            "The sooner we can find him--"

            "An hour will not make a difference for him, but it will make one for us," Dorian insisted.  Talia still had not spoken.  Her desire to find Cullen was becoming outweighed by exhaustion, and a warm bath sounded heavenly. 

            Solas still didn't look willing to give in, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Cole piped up.  "Warmth breeds warmth, light needs light," he murmured.  "Help wishes help, and yet too much darkness brings thunder without rain.  Arguing doesn't help." 

            Despite Cole's words, both mages continued to glare at each other, so Talia spoke first.  "Dorian's right, Solas," she said.  "Will you please talk to Cole about finding Cullen while I clean up?" 

            "Of course, Inquisitor," Solas said quickly.  He stood up.  "Come, Cole.  We'll talk in my solar."  He headed for the stairs, the spirit boy trailing behind him, still muttering.  Dorian turned to her.        

            "You meant that, right?"  Talia nodded.  "Oh, good.  Send for me when you're ready and I'll gather them back up."  He kissed Talia's cheek and gave her a quick hug.  "Everything will be fine, my dear,"  he said quietly, and left. 

            Talia stood by herself for a long moment, her eyes roving over the quarters.  Armor lay strewn about from the night before, and a row of empty potion flasks still stood on the table next to the bed.  The faint medicinal scent of elfroot pervaded the room. 

            She walked over to Cullen's form lying in amidst the pillows.  He hadn't moved, hadn't changed, since she'd fallen asleep the night before.  His eyes were still beneath their lids. 

            With a rush of boldness, she kissed his forehead before scampering off to the washroom to bathe. 

\---

            When they reassembled more than an hour later, Talia finally felt up to the task of finding Cullen, of figuring things out so her Inquisition was whole again.  She'd spent so much time in the last 24 hours crying or frozen with fear, and she was sick of it.  She and Cullen weren't even together! There was no reason for her to lose her mind over his illness.  And if his feelings really were what Cole suggested, if that dream was really a reflection of what Cullen wanted… She had to get him back before they could resolve anything between them. 

            And so she sat at her desk, pouring over maps of the Graves and notes about the Fade in an attempt to help Solas and Cole locate the Commander. 

            When Dorian arrived, Solas and Cole in tow, they gathered in front of the fire, and Talia slowly shared what had happened in the dream.  Solas interrupted multiple times, each to ask a more exact question, but Dorian just listened.  At last, her story finished, Talia slumped against him.  She didn't want to admit it, but her eyes were welling up with tears again. 

            Solas, however, was staring into the fire. 

            "Thoughts, my friend?"  Dorian asked him after a few minutes, looking at him expectantly. 

            Solas looked up. 

            "Why hello there, nice of you to rejoin us," Dorian quipped, blinking at Solas with feigned good will.  For a moment, the elf seemed lost in thought still, but with a shake of his head, he was back. 

            "I think I have figured some things out, Inquisitor," he said, looking at Talia.  She straightened where she sat, and Cole drifted to stand beside her.  "When Cole heard the Commander's last thoughts before he collapsed, they were obviously concerned with you.  And then when he reached into the Fade to find you, he saw the dream you were having.  I believe the end of that dream to be Cole's interpretation of the Commander's feelings." 

            Talia nodded as she listened, but Cole disappeared.  Within moments he reappeared next to the bed, then vanished again to reappear on the balcony, each time murmuring to himself and wringing his hands.  Then he vanished again.    

              When he did not reappear, Dorian stood to investigate.  Solas, however, kept his attention focused on the Inquisitor. 

            "You also described the Commander as looking pained or in distress as the dream went on.  That seems to fit with what Cole was sensing from him."  Talia was starting to look scared now, and Solas was quick to console her.  "This is actually quite positive, Inquisitor.  This means he was conscious as he was collapsing, which suggests his injuries in the Fade are not life-threatening." 

            "So… does this mean we can find him?" 

            The elf nodded.  "We should be able to.  We should examine a map of the Graves in detail, and then I will require a night to visit the Fade and attempt to locate him more specifically.  From there,  Dorian and I can enter the Fade using lyrium and attempt to pull him out." 

            Upon hearing this plan, Talia's heart sank.  "You and Dorian?" 

            "We are mages.  Entering the Fade is no easy task, especially when we must attempt to change something within it.  We must be aware, and to do so, we will need to use the same lyrium that is used to send mages to their Harrowing.  Non-mages often do not respond well to this; most cannot use it at all." 

            "Solas."  Talia's voice was deadly.  "I have walked in the Fade once and survived.  You yourself said I had an ability to navigate the Fade unheard of for a non-mage." 

            Solas sighed.  "I understand your concern, Inquisitor, but this is not advisable." 

            Dorian approached the fire again, his search for Cole fruitless.  "Perhaps we can attempt it anyway?"  There was a twinkle in the Tevinter's eye.  "Maker knows the man is drawn to her. Perhaps she can be of service.  Beyond your usual talents, darling," he added.  

            Solas didn't answer immediately.  Instead, he got up and made his way to Cullen's bedside.  The man was still motionless and pale, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his brow.  Solas cast over him for a few moments, never looking back to Talia or Dorian.  

            When this round of spells was finished, the mage returned to them.  

            "Very well," he said quietly.  "Please, rest well.  You will need your strength tomorrow."

            "Thank you, Solas," Talia replied quietly.  Solas nodded briefly at her before turning to go.   He was almost to the stairs of her quarters when he turned back. 

            "I must caution you, Inquisitor," he said quietly, his blue-grey eyes not quite meeting  hers.  "This may not be a rescue." 

            She just blinked at him; her brain refused to process this.  "What do you mean?" 

            "Even if we find him," Solas began. "He may be beyond saving." 

            Her voice rose. "What do you mean?" 

            The elven mage sighed, and next to her, Dorian put his hand on her shoulder carefully.  "We've spoken of the risks to his physical body.  But what is trapped in the Fade is his mind.  After all the time he has slept, I do not know what we will find.  He may be incapacitated.  He may have suffered brain death, or become a demon's thrall, or any number of things.  And if he is unlikely to recover, it may be preferable…" He did not finish his thought. 

            "Solas." Dorian snapped, trying to silence the other mage.  Solas just shook his head. 

            Talia interjected before either could speak again. Her voice shook. "But, he could be fine, right? Just wandering around the Fade-Graves, not sure how to get home?" 

            "It is… unlikely," Solas hedged carefully.  "There is no way to say for sure."  Dorian squeezed her shoulder. 

            "We have to try," she said firmly, the near-collapse gone from her voice, and Cole materialized beside her again.

            "Hope springs," he said quietly, his voice rising as he spoke.  "Red spreads over his cheeks, a good look.  Hope bubbles, hope for laughter and smiles, stammering still, precious, sweet." 

            Talia looked from him to Solas, her eyes fixed on the mage.  "Yes, Cole, hope." 

            Solas nodded and turned away.  "I will begin my preparations, Inquisitor.  We will begin work on the morrow." 

            Dorian stood to follow him out.  "I will visit Grand Enchanter Fiona and requisition the necessary supplies."  He smiled fondly at Talia, whose eyes had brightened a little.  "I'll come visit later and we can go for dinner.  Perhaps our illustrious author will have a new story with which to regal the Commander this evening."  The two mages vanished down the stairs, leaving Talia sitting on the sofa. 

            To her surprise, Cole leaned over and gave her a warm hug.  She heard him say, "I helped," softly, almost to himself, and she hugged him back, more grateful than she could put into words.   When he disappeared a few moments later, she no longer felt so alone. 


	6. In the Fade, Part 1

Cullen sat at the table, his armor spread out on its surface.  A small jar of silverite polish sat next to his breastplate.  As he dipped a cloth into it, he couldn't help but breathe deeply, letting the familiar scent wash over him as he worked.  His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms tanned from working in the fields surrounding his home.

            Something banged into the table leg and a gauntlet threatened to roll off.   He extended a casual hand and captured it easily before it could land on one of the two little boys now hiding under the table. 

            With a grin, he bent down, polish and cloth forgotten.  He tucked his head carefully under the rim of the table, and when his eyes landed on them, both boys giggled.  The younger of the two made to hide behind one of the legs, which inadvertently put him into the path of his mother. 

            "Branson!" she admonished, maneuvering around him with a swish of her skirts.  "You're in the way!"  Under the table, Cullen wiggled his eyebrows at the boys, which prompted further giggling.  He could almost feel his wife rolling her eyes as she left the room. 

            The older boy, made bold by his father's antics, lunged for him, and Cullen jerked back instinctively.  The back of his head collided with the table, and he let out a muffled curse just as his son's head crashed into his forehead.  Both howled, one only a little more controlled than the other.  With a grunt, Cullen pushed himself off the chair and joined his son on the floor.  The boy climbed into his lap, burying his face in the shoulder of Cullen's shirt.  His father wrapped an arm around him, the other rubbing at his own head. 

            Quick as a flash, Branson leapt into his father's arms too, his dark curls bouncing.  Cullen just managed to catch him as all three toppled over backward.  He couldn't help himself; laughter pealed out of him, richer than any sound he'd ever made in his life at Skyhold. 

            That sound brought his wife back into the room, and she stood over the three of them, drying her hands on a towel. When she smiled down at them, laughter lightening her dark purple eyes, Cullen couldn't help but smile back.  She finished with the towel and tugged at her skirts, fluffing them into a circle around her as she sat next to the pile of her boys. 

            "Mama!" The older boy cried, pulling himself off his father to hug her. 

            She cradled him gently against her.  "Dorian, baby, what happened?" 

            "Bumped my head on Da's head," the boy grumped, allowing his mother to fuss over him.  She ran her palm over the red bump on his forehead. 

            "It doesn't look so bad," she murmured before turning to Cullen.  "Commander, what happened?"  The lilt in her voice gave away the playfulness behind her serious face. 

            "My dear Inquisitor," he began from his position flat on his back.  "I--" he was interrupted by his younger son. 

            "He making faces, Mama!" Branson pressed one chubby hand against his father's stomach and pushed himself up.  Soon he was standing on Cullen's abdomen, and the former Commander was struggling not to make a strained face. 

            Talia was laughing though.  "Making faces, huh?  That carries a pretty strict punishment, you know."  She stood, setting Dorian on his feet.  "I think you'll survive, sweetie," she told him and ruffled his blonde hair.  It was straighter than his brother's, like hers, but the color matched his father's curls. 

            The boy nodded seriously, trying to sniffle the rest of his tears away.  Next to them, a single grunt of air escaped Cullen when Branson decided to jump in place, and Talia quickly turned back to them.  "Come here, little man," she said, reaching to scoop the baby up. 

            "Oof," Cullen grunted again, his head hitting the floor with a thunk. 

            Talia spared him a glance and smiled.  "Dorian, think you can help Da up?"  With new purpose, the boy grabbed his father's arms and yanked.  Cullen feigned dead weight and Dorian toppled over again, landing in a heap in his father's arms. 

            "Mama, it didn't work!" He squealed, laughing as Cullen sat them up. 

            "No, Mama, we're up," he corrected quickly, throwing Dorian a sideways look.  The boy tried to hide his grin behind his hands and, failing, started to laugh. 

            "I see you two," Talia said, laughing herself.  "How about if I help, tough guy?"  Dorian leapt to his feet and grabbed Cullen's right arm.   Talia grabbed Cullen's left, conveniently lifted for her so she didn't have to bend down too far holding Branson, and together they pulled. 

            Cullen popped to his feet, which knocked both his wife and son a little off balance.  He caught them though, and pulled them in for a hug.  As his wife relaxed against him, her chin against his chest, as his sons tugged on his clothes with their smudgy hands, as the smell of the roasted meat they'd soon have for dinner wafted though the air, Cullen closed his eyes and thanked the Maker for his luck.  Not once in his life -- not in Kinloch Hold, not in Kirkwall, not even in Skyhold -- had he imagined that he would be so happy.

            His memories of the Inquisition were going a little fuzzy now, but he thought back to the days of his seemingly unrequited feelings for Talia, his Inquisitor.  He remembered pining after her -- her beautiful dark hair, those bright eyes made green by the Breach, that fearless spirit as she saved the world -- and fantasizing about a simple life, one with kids and pets and a farm like the one from his childhood.  None of that had seemed possible then, but it had been all he wanted, all he thought he would never deserve. 

            Now though, more than seven years after the defeat of Corypheus, that old lucky coin had finally come in handy. 

            He shifted his weight back to look at Talia.  The hand that had been on her waist came up to trace the faded face of Andraste on that old coin, converted to a necklace years before.  She looked down and smiled when she saw what had caught his eye. 

            "Luck's still on our side," she said quietly. 

            "I'm just glad I still have some," he replied, leaning down to kiss her.

            Below them, Dorian groaned out an "Ewwwww!" and covered his eyes.  Branson started wiggling the moment neither of his parents were paying attention to him, and Talia promptly broke the kiss to put him down. 

            "Dinner's almost done," she said, pecking Cullen on the cheek again.  He nodded and turned to the boys. 

            "Boys, help me with my armor?"  Branson lifted his arms to be picked up and Cullen obliged, following Dorian back to the table to clean up. 

            Just then, there was a knock on their farmhouse door.  It echoed a little into the kitchen, and Talia shouted for him to answer it. 

            "Grab your sword, Dor," Cullen teased his son, who picked up his small wooden sword.  "We're off to guard the house!"

            "Against darkspawn, Da?"  The boy asked, following his father toward the front door. 

            Cullen smiled.  "I sure hope not," he said, and adjusting his son in his arms, he opened the door.


	7. In the Fade, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I am not good at this "updating regularly" thing, and for that I apologize. 
> 
> Also: The violence gets stepped up in this chapter, so heads up for some gore.

They'd been traipsing through the Fade for hours, it seemed.  The landscape all looked equally horrific to Talia: all dark, craggy rocks, foul-smelling standing water, and a heavy, viscous fog covering everything.  Things that looked like they belonged in the real world -- tables, statues, even letters and candles -- were strewn all over, some just floating as if someone had pulled their support away a split second before.  Above everything, ugly green thunderclouds swirled through the atmosphere, sending crackling lightning streaking down toward the ground. 

            She was desperately hoping that, if she were a good little Inquisitor, she would never encounter the Fade outside her dreams again. 

            The journey itself had been simple -- she, Solas, and Dorian had used the lyrium from Grand Enchanter Fiona to send them into the Fade.  Her own transition had been easy, as they'd predicted, even though she was a mundane.  Even now, their unconscious bodies were lying on the floor in her quarters, awaiting their return.  Cassandra, Varric, Leliana, and Iron Bull had all gathered to stand watch while they were unconscious, each arguing that they offered some important skill should something go wrong.  Each had looked slightly terrified upon hearing the plan, even stoic Leliana, and Talia knew they were just making excuses so they could be there.  She didn't care.

            At heart, none of them believed this could work.  Even she was a little unsure.  All she had to do was venture into the Fade and pull out her Commander -- a task she'd never before heard of anyone attempting.  Just like most of her other activities.    

            But that morning, the mask of the Inquisitor had settled back over her features, and Talia had vanished.  She'd been Talia for days now -- the frantic ride home, her numerous breakdowns, her fears revealed -- but now she had a mission.  Now she was the Inquisitor again, racing to save the Inquisition's Commander, and nothing else mattered.  She could have no fear, no crush, nothing but the fierce determination to solve a problem that had served her so well thus far. 

            If only it were so easy. 

            And a little less disgusting, if she were honest. 

            Demons had started attacking them the moment they'd opened their eyes in the Fade, and Talia was drenched in gore.  Green goo from the wraiths oozed down her armor, its sulfurous scent burning the inside of her nose.  Next to her, Dorian was likewise covered, though much of his had the blue-black color of ash from despair demons set aflame.  His efforts to brush himself clean had only smeared everything further; his forehead was covered with brushes of black from where he'd attempted to keep his hair in place. 

            Solas, too, was covered, but he didn't seem to notice.  The ground below his feet bubbled and squelched with unpleasant consistency, ooze seeping between his toes. The smell coming off him as he led the way was even more offensive than her own sulfur-perfume. 

            She was only too happy when the landscape finally started to shift. 

            Trees rose up around them, but trees unlike any she had ever seen before.  These were short, scraggly trees, their trunks jagged like broken bones as they stretched toward the unforgiving sky.  Instead of the lush green of the real Emerald Graves, these trees sprouted leaves of shifting hue, from purple to grey in the sickly light of the Fade. 

            She inched closer to Solas, Dorian close on her heels. 

            "We must be nearly there," he remarked with a noise of disgust. 

            Solas pointed ahead of them.  "We are indeed."  Before them, slowly emerging from the long shadows, appeared a rough wooden shanty. Its walls splintered as they rose toward the roof, leaving wide cracks in the wood.  The whole structure leaned slightly, its door hanging ajar. 

            Talia stopped in her tracks.  "That's where he is?" 

            Dorian nearly ran into her.  "You expected what, a palace perhaps?" 

            Solas shushed them both.  "This is where I sense the Commander's presence, Inquisitor.  But it is weak, and weakening, the longer we linger." 

            Talia drew her daggers and rolled her shoulders, ready.  "Then let's do this," she said, and reached up to knock on the door before either man could stop her. 

            The door nearly buckled under the slight pressure of her knuckles, and she yanked her hand away sharply.  A small black splinter throbbed in her skin.  Behind her, both mages pulled on the Fade around them, their staffs pulsing with energy.  Talia yanked at the splinter just as they heard a crackling voice from within the hut. 

            The pitch was high and piercing, like metal rending, but its words an almost mundane request for someone to get the door.  The three of them exchanged looks just as the door opened. 

            The man who appeared was stooped and his skin gray, but it was unmistakably Cullen.  A full, unwashed scent rolled off him when he moved, his hair greasy and matted.  Dark circles lay heavy under his eyes, and a near-full beard covered his gaunt cheeks.   The lines on his face were deeper than she'd ever seen them. 

            Perhaps most unsettling were the two little boys with him.  One was cradled in Cullen's arms, his hair obscuring his face, while the other was clinging to Cullen's leg, face hidden against him.  Each glowed slightly, purple energy emanating from their skin. 

            Cullen's eyes rose to meet hers from the doorway, their brown color blended with the iridescent green unique to the Fade. 

            Talia backed away slowly.  There was no recognition in his eyes. 

            Solas stepped up quickly, pulling Talia behind him.  "Commander, how are you?"  He asked conversationally, as if this encounter was totally normal.  Cullen's gaze shifted slowly over to the elf, and very gradually, light came back into his eyes. 

            "Solas," he said gruffly, his voice scraping against his throat.  "This is a surprise."  Little inflection colored his voice, giving his words a hollow sound.  He glanced down at the little boys.   "Boys, meet Solas.  He helped your Da in the Inquisition many years ago."  Both boys turned to look at them then, and Talia had to stifle a scream. 

            Neither one had a face. 

            Instead, there was a blank, featureless plane, devoid of human characteristics.  Both heads were topped with masses of hair, one dark but curly and the other straight but blonde.  The likeness to Cullen hit Talia in the gut and she stepped backward.  Dorian caught her unconsciously, his eyes fixed on the abominations before them. 

            "They're demons," he breathed, and Talia swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. 

            Ahead of them, Solas seemed unfazed. 

            "I did indeed," he replied to Cullen.  "Commander, may I speak with you in private?"

            Cullen was slow to respond.  "I suppose.  Let me get my wife."  He set the demon-boy in his arms down and turned to the other.  "Dorian, can you find Mama?" 

            Behind Talia, Dorian flinched.  His hand found her wrist and squeezed. 

            Both demon-boys ran off, and Cullen turned back to Solas.  "Give her a moment.  You know how she is."  Solas inclined his head, a confused expression crossing his smooth face. 

            "Commander," he began. "How would I…" 

            But that question was swiftly answered when Cullen's wife stepped into the doorway to stand next to her husband. 

            A desire demon stood before them, its naked body glistening in the light from the Fade.  Its hooves floated just off the ground, breasts and waist adorned with hanging gold chains.  One hand rested casually on its chest while the other caressed the side of Cullen's face with a fingertip.  Its tail flicked idly back and forth behind it.  The demon reeked of sex, of temptation, of all those things you wanted but couldn't have, and its eyes were feral.   

            But its face was the worst, for it wore the face of the Inquisitor. 

            Talia saw her own lips, nose, cheeks, skin reflected back at her, all subtly shifted as the demon used her features.  Her hair sat upon its head like a bad wig, its horns twisted up through her bangs.  When it saw her, the smile that crept across its face was one of Talia's own, though twisted as though smiling without mirth.  The one saving grace were its eyes: they were bright and purple instead of green, pulsing in time with the peeling false Anchor on its hand. 

            "Maker preserve me," Talia whispered, her eyes never leaving the demon. 

            Cullen obviously didn't see what they saw; he turned to his demon-wife and calmly introduced Solas to her. 

            "Solas, what brings you all the way to South Reach to see me after all these years?" He asked casually.  To his credit, the elf did not falter. 

            "Why, Commander," he began.  "I thought that would be obvious."  Solas reached behind him and grabbed Talia's arm, pulling her forward.  "I brought someone I thought you should meet." 

            Talia stumbled as she moved, nearly falling right into the wasted body of her Commander.  Solas's hand was a vice on her arm, and he forced her to look right into Cullen's eyes. 

            There was still no recognition, but now the Commander was beginning to look uncomfortable.  Something about the Inquisitor was unsettling him, his eyes taking on a bright, feverish appearance.  "Who is… is this…" His raspy voice trailed off, leaving his jaw working but no sound coming out. 

            Beside him, the demon started shifting.  It was subtle -- its hips tilting just so to mimic Talia's posture, its hair growing out, its hand clenching as the light from the false-Anchor adjusted to match hers.  For just a moment, it seemed to work; Cullen's face unclouded when his eyes settled on it, his peaceful expression betraying his mind's acceptance of the demon's illusion. 

            Talia lunged forward when his expression changed, her mind no longer in control.  Her hands found his face and pulled him away from the demon to look at her. 

            "Cullen!"   Desperation coated her voice, rough and scared, but it worked.  His eyes flew to hers.  They clouded over instantly, confusion obvious, but the green in them started to fade.

            Time slowed again, just as it had in her dream a lifetime ago.  She could see Cullen's lips moving, and one word rasped out through his chapped lips.  "Talia?"  A smile broke across her face, and she nodded vigorously as his hands came up to cup her cheeks. 

            "That's me," she whispered, tears threatening.  "I'm here." 

            Cullen blinked hard.  When he opened his eyes again, they were brown and clear.  "But how…" 

            As the façade cracked, the demon unleashed a blast of raw power.  It crashed into Solas, sending him flying backward with its unexpected force.  Dorian had managed to get a barrier up in time, but his aim was off as he tried to fire a column of lightning back against the demon. 

            Talia moved forward, her arms encircling Cullen's narrow waist, and she pushed him backward into the little shanty.  Once inside, she drew her daggers just in time for the two demon-boys to fly at her.  They morphed as they moved, their featureless faces suddenly sprouting jaws filled with teeth and their hands extending into claws.  She dodged out of reach of one but smashed into Cullen as she jumped.  His body offered almost no resistance as they tumbled over.  The crack his shoulder made as he hit the floor reverberated through Talia's ears, and she cringed even as she tried to break her own fall. 

            Cullen lay on the ground moaning, one arm weakly clutching at his shoulder, but the demons gave her no time to wonder if he was okay.   They came at her low, still in their toddler-forms.  Talia pushed herself up and dropped into a crouch just as one lunged for her.  It missed, but in her haste, she'd left Cullen unguarded, and the demon attacked him instead. 

            She didn't give it a second thought; she plunged her dagger into its back, throwing her weight behind her blade.  The demon dropped, its claws already bunched in Cullen's tunic. 

            There was no time to check if he was okay though, because the moment its brother went down, the second demon threw itself onto Talia's shoulders.  Its fangs and claws ripped into her, and she fell backwards, trying to maintain her balance as she fought.  She'd lost a dagger in the back of the first demon, and she couldn't see this one, but she'd be lost if she let that stop her. 

            A few blind stabs seemed to hit home -- one of the demon's arms loosened from around her throat -- and she twisted around, trying to get a better angle of attack.  Her blade flashed, moving toward the demon's throat, but the visage of a child was suddenly clinging to her and she froze.  Gone were the fangs, the claws, and instead she saw the cherubic face of a little boy, his features a perfect blend of hers and Cullen's. 

She hesitated.

            Before she could blink, the demon ripped the armor around one shoulder away, and white-hot pain streaked through her body as it thrust its claws through her body.   She screamed, a high-pitched wail of agony shredding her throat.  Her world was spinning, lurching, as she fought, but the pain made her body feel sluggish.  She reached back, frantically trying to land a blow, but her aim was off.  The demon kept moving on her back, shifting away from her, all the while ripping its claws through her flesh.  Copious amounts of blood ran down her chest. 

            The crackle of magic reached her ears from the battle outside the hut, but she didn't have time to wonder if Dorian and Solas were okay. She wasn't.  The embarrassing thought of _Maker take me, I'm going to get killed by a fucking toddler!_ barely had time to form before her knees buckled under the weight and blood loss. 

            The demon had crawled up her back as she fell, its arms now wrapped around her head and throat.  She could feel the claws of one hand pulling at her scalp.  Her daggers forgotten now, she fumbled with her belt, desperately trying to find her health potions.  She just needed a little bit, just enough to slow the bleeding, and she would be back on her feet. 

            The weight on her back suddenly lessened, but a blaze of pain lit up her head.  Hot blood gushed down the side of her face as she realized that the demon had torn a chunk of her hair out, taking the scalp with it.   Despite her horror, one hand managed to clamp down on a potion.   She bit the cork off, pouring it down her mangled throat.  She took a deep breath, then another. 

            There was no new pain for a moment, no new sensations of being attacked or ripped apart.  Talia could feel the potion knitting the flesh of her back together, the blood flow from her scalp slowing.  Then a hand settled around her upper arm and pulled her up. 

            It was Cullen. 

            He stood slumped against the wall, one arm dangling near-useless at his side.  The filthy tunic he wore was torn from the demon's claws, but he didn't seem to be wounded.  His face was more colored than it had been previously, but it was splattered with her blood.  The hand around her arm did not loosen its grip as she looked up at him. 

            "Cullen…" she said, still trying to catch her breath.  "Thank you." 

            He pulled her in close to him and she laid her uninjured hand against his chest.  "Talia, I…"  His brown eyes searched hers.  Slowly he let go of her arm and raised his hand to cup her cheek.  "Where--" 

            Then there was a flash of purple light, and everything vanished.   


	8. In the Fade, Part 3

            The Fade disappeared, along with everyone in it.  Talia didn't even have a moment to wonder what had happened to Dorian and Solas.  Instead, suddenly, she was in Skyhold -- not just Skyhold, she quickly realized, but in the Commander's quarters. 

And Cullen was there with her, standing casually in his tunic and breeches with a smirk spread across his handsome face.  His hair was just beginning to uncurl, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms.  His bare feet and unlaced shirt gave the impression that they'd climbed up into his loft together, and recently.  He took a step forward, one hand extended out toward her.  If she squinted, she could just see a hint of lipstick on his cheek.  Its color matched the dark purple-pink of her own. 

            She was having trouble with this image of Cullen whole and healthy, Cullen as she'd once sparred with him, Cullen whom she'd fantasized about. 

Cullen, who couldn't possibly be real. 

            With that thought, the desire demon materialized behind him.  The smirk on his face stayed in place, but his body froze.  The demon draped itself over his shoulders, one hand playing with the laces on his shirt as it eyed Talia around his broad form. 

            "Do you like what you see?" It hissed, its voice high pitched and grating.  Talia recoiled from it.  "I can make him whatever you want."  It adjusted its arm around Cullen's body and snapped its fingers.  His shirt vanished, revealing a body rippling with muscle.  He looked much the same as he always did shirtless -- Talia had seen him in the yard training often enough -- and yet something was off.  The stance of his shoulders, the cant of his hips, something about the way the demon held him felt aloof, alien, arrogant.  Like this version of Cullen knew just how good he looked, and yet she couldn't remember the Commander ever carrying himself like that.  Instead, Cullen moved like he'd never considered that anyone would give him a second glance, his self-consciousness only vanishing when he hefted a weapon or trained with his men. 

            Arrogant wasn't in his vocabulary. 

            The demon sensed that this wasn't the vision Talia would want and snapped its fingers again.  It and Cullen both vanished in a puff of smoke, reappearing instantly on the bed. 

            This time, Cullen was lounging back against his pillows, a sheet the only thing wrapped around his obviously naked body.  The muscles in his shoulders bunched and coiled as he raised a hand to make a 'come hither' gesture.  The sheet below his hips swelled with unmistakable arousal, the size of the bulge seeming disproportionally large. 

            Talia gulped.

            A slew of inappropriate thoughts ran through her head, not a few of which were along the lines of _Fuck the demon, get those pants off!_   But other, sharper thoughts overpowered those. 

            The last thing she remembered before this was… her brain struggled to come up with an answer.  The sharp sting of pain radiated from her hairline, her shoulder, but she couldn't remember why.  She knew she'd just seen the desire demon but couldn't seem to remember where.  However, the images of Dorian bracing himself within a barrier and Solas being blasted back through broken trees hung fresh and clear in her mind. 

            Before her, Cullen pushed himself up.  The sheet started to slip, and Talia again fought the urge to give in.  She squeezed her eyes closed and gave her head a sharp shake. 

            When she opened them again, Cullen was right in front of her.  His whole demeanor had changed.  He stood tall,  armor in place and hair perfectly combed.  Those kind brown eyes studied her, a smile pulling at the scarred side of his mouth.  The lines on his face had dissipated, and he looked years younger. 

            For a long moment, Talia just stared at him.  She could feel the edges of her memories unraveling, the specifics of the last few hours washing away, and she struggled to hang onto them.  When she didn't move, Cullen cautiously extended a hand out to her.  Her own Anchor-laden hand reached out to meet his, and he squeezed her fingers when they met. 

            Slowly he stepped closer to her until they were almost chest to chest.  Whatever had been happening in the back of Talia's mind was fading fast, and instead, she found herself awash in thoughts she had been trying to keep at bay. 

            _He looked happy when we opened that door, demons and all._

            That man had been a sharp contrast to the one she'd left behind in her quarters, the one who was sick and pale and tormented by nightmares. 

            _Solas said he might never recover, even if he wakes up._

            Would Cullen want the life of an invalid, where he could never be in the field again, never fight a battle again, never hold a weapon again?

            _No.  He would want a life he could love, not one where he'd feel useless._

            That was something she admired, maybe even loved, about the Commander: he was strong, self-sufficient, even in his weakest moments.  

            _Can I be the one to force him into that life?  He would hate me, resent me forever._

            She could practically hear the words now, and that made the decision resolve itself in her head. 

            _I can learn to let him go.  If he'll find happiness here, I can ignore my own for him._

            She could feel her determination strengthening as Cullen leaned over her,  tension thick between them.   A playful gleam had sprung into his amber eyes, and his other hand had come up to cup her cheek gently.  Talia leaned into him, her eyes meeting his, and he smiled.  His eyes fluttered closed and she could feel his breath on her lips.    

            _This will be the only kiss I ever get, no matter how many more I wanted._

            The word "want" rang through her thoughts just as his lips ghosted over hers, and she jerked backward, realizing she'd succumbed to the thrall of the demon.  Spinning, she stabbed the space behind her as hard as she could, and the desire demon's body materialized around her blade.   It stared down at the wound in horror as the scene around them started to fizzle and melt. 

            The stone walls of Cullen's Skyhold office were first to go, holes appearing to reveal the broken trees and eerie green light of the Fade they'd left behind.  Cullen himself stumbled backward, his body his own again, and collapsed against one of the wooden walls of the shanty they were standing in.  Dorian caught him as he fell, a barrier bursting into being around the Commander.  Behind the demon, the office melted to reveal Solas, his staff raised and a ball of energy sizzling in his palm. 

            Talia's wounds reappeared as the last of the illusion faded, and she crumpled, barely catching herself on the edge of the rough table.  The demon reared up for a moment, blade forgotten, but Solas was faster.  Green and blue energy blasted through the air, lifting the demon and slamming it bodily into the ground, driving the blade the rest of the way through it.  Plum-colored blood spread in a pool below its body, and the energy emanating from its flesh finally died away. 

            Solas was already casting a healing spell by the time Talia looked away from the demon's body.  Warmth settled over her, the severe wounds in her shoulders knitting themselves back together, and she took a few deep breaths. 

            "Thank you," she finally got out, and Solas gave her a small smile.

            "Inquisitor, we must head back immediately," he told her gravely.  "Any longer and I cannot guarantee what kinds of injuries the Commander may sustain in the real world." 

            She nodded.  "Do what you can for him here, quickly, and we'll go."  The apostate moved away, pulling energy into his hands before he could even inspect Cullen's injuries. 

            The Commander practically hung off Dorian's shoulders, one arm still useless at his side.  His head was up but his eyes were cloudy, and he didn't seem to know where he was.  Dorian had one arm wrapped around his waist, Cullen's good arm pulled over his shoulder.  Solas started casting immediately. 

            "He will need some help," Dorian said calmly, though Talia could see that his words belied the seriousness of the Commander's injuries.  The mage's features looked strained with the effort of holding the man up. 

            Talia pushed herself up carefully and moved over to them.  "Cullen, can you hear me?"  His eyes shifted to look at her but his brow furrowed and he didn't answer.  "Cullen?"  Dorian cleared his throat.  When Talia glanced at him, he shook his head. 

            "Leave him be," he said quietly.  "Just a minute ago, his whole world was different."  Talia closed her mouth instead of retorting, a flood of guilt washing over her.  She nodded and moved back, out of Cullen's view. 

            He continued to stare off into space as Solas worked, but before long, the mage stepped away.  "He needs help beyond what I can do here," he said.  "We must get back to Skyhold." 

            Talia went to Cullen's other side, wrapping an arm around his waist.  "Then let's go." 

\---

            Demons set upon them the moment they exited the shack, drawn by the bursts of energy and violence from the fight.  Solas threw up a barrier immediately, pushing all his strength into it to create a small bubble of space around them as they walked.   Dorian did what he could to cast without his staff, but his manifestations were sloppy without the focus;  what he'd intended as a layer of fire outside the bubble instead just super-heated the barrier, roasting wraiths into ashes but raising the temperature inside as well. 

            "Is this really the best you could do?"  Talia grumbled as she dodged around the edges of the barrier, slicing through to deal damage to passing demons. 

            "Without a staff and supporting almost 200 pounds of dead weight? My apologies if my efforts lack the artistic touch," Dorian huffed, his sparkling wit dulled with effort. 

            Talia tried to smile as a despair demon bounced off the barrier, its tattered robes combusting with the heat.  "You're forgiven."  She wiped sweat out of her eyes with her injured arm, leaving a smear of blood across her forehead. 

            "Please desist," Solas ground out through gritted teeth.  His staff was clenched in front of him, his bald head dripping sweat as he pushed everything he had into their barrier.  None of them were in any shape to fight again.  "We must find a safe place, and soon." 

            Talia glanced at Cullen's blank face as Solas spoke.  The Commander was still conscious, though just barely, and he hadn't said a word since the illusion vanished. "Solas, do we really have time to get back to the portal? We walked for what felt like hours." 

            "We haven't the time, Inquisitor," he answered.  "We have one chance. We must draw Skyhold to us." 

            Dorian and Talia exchanged incredulous looks and stopped walking. 

            "Surely you cannot be serious, Solas," Talia finally said. 

            Solas twirled his staff, slamming it into the ground and sending a shockwave of energy blasting through the barrier, destroying the demons that had been attacking it from afar.  "Inquisitor, my experiences of the Fade tell me this: If we focus hard enough on Skyhold, given that we know it intimately, we can draw it to us here." 

            "What good will that do?" Talia asked.

            The elf turned to face her, his eyes roving her face.  "I can wake us without our portal, but it takes a great deal of energy.  Expending that effort will draw attention.  If we are in a safe place such as Skyhold -- "

            "Skyhold is safe in the _real world_ ," Talia interrupted, her voice rising.  "I know it's got all sorts of ancient magic, but how in the Maker's name --" 

            Dorian, in turn, interrupted her.  "Actually, I believe our elven friend may be correct," he announced.  "My studies of Skyhold suggest that it is just as powerful an artifact here in the Fade as it is in the real world." 

            "Precisely."  A small but smug smile spread over Solas's face.  "If we can get inside, the demons won't be able to pursue us, and we can escape the Fade." 

            "It will take quite a bit of focus to draw such as powerful place to us," Dorian said.  "How, pray tell, are we strong enough to do that?"  He shifted deliberately, the Commander's weight bouncing heavily against his body to emphasize his point.  

            "Trust me," Solas said.  Around them, the barrier suddenly flickered under a fresh assault, and the mage's staff sprang back into position for attack.  He closed his eyes and started muttering under his breath, his words rushing forth and pouring power back into their defense.  As he did, Talia moved over to check on Cullen.  His amber eyes, normally filled with light, were dull and he barely registered it when she pressed a hand against his face.  She glanced at Dorian, whose worried expression mirrored her own. 

            "Solas…" 

            "You two are some of the strongest-willed people I have ever met in all my years," Solas snapped, his eyes opening into dangerous slits.  "Think of Skyhold and it will obey.  It is our only chance."  Talia closed her mouth with a snap, defeated. 

            Dorian glanced at her.  The worry on his face had settled into a wry smile.  "My dear, I think he just called you stubborn." 

            "Look who's talking," she replied but dutifully closed her eyes and focused on Skyhold.  She imagined running through the courtyard, up the long staircase where they'd made her Inquisitor, and entering the Grand Hall, its walls decorated with tapestries and stained glass in homage to the Inquisition and its growing power.  In her mind's eye, she marched past her enormous Andrastian throne, its painted flames rising toward the ceiling, and pushed open the door to her quarters.  She could practically feel the burning of her thighs as she climbed the stairs and finally pushed open the last door, the warm air from the fire and the flowery scent from her potpourri washing over her senses.  Her quarters, her haven, if only she could be there now, sitting on the couch with Dorian arguing over some magical theory or working at her desk hoping for Cullen to appear with some flimsy excuse to visit and distract her. 

            Someone touched her shoulder then, and her eyes flew open. 

            Skyhold stood before them, its high stone walls exactly as they looked in the midst of the Frostback Mountains.  The Inquisition banner hung above its gateway, the battlements just as they were when Talia last walked them, and the tower housing her quarters watched over it all. 

            "And so… once we get inside, what happens?" Talia asked, staring up at it. 

            Solas smiled.  "Even in the Fade, Skyhold's magic runs deep.  Its walls will keep us safe, and once we are safe, we can leave the Fade," he repeated, neatly avoiding the question of how all that would happen.   

            Dorian sniffed.  "But I was hoping to build a summer home here." 

            "We'll find you a place in the Fallow Mire," Talia said absentmindedly, studying the path to Skyhold's entrance.  It was littered with dangerous-looking pools of standing, smoking water and demons flitted about amid the craggy rocks.  "More homey." 

            "Good point.  Hard to redecorate the Fade.  Nothing cooperates." 

            Solas rolled his eyes.  "We don't have much time left.  Our lyrium is running out, and we must be back before then." 

            "We'll get there, Solas," Dorian reassured him. He shifted Cullen's weight into a more comfortable position, causing the Commander to raise his head a little and study them.  His eyes found Skyhold's walls, his watchtower perfectly recreated here in the Fade, and his brow cleared a little.  But he still said nothing. 

            Talia spun one blade idly around her uninjured wrist.  "What do we do?" 

            "There is little we can do to fight, and we must move quickly," the elf said, moving to support Cullen's injured side.  "So we run." 

            Dorian balked.  "We run? Are you mad?" 

            "No choice, Vint," Talia said, doing her best impression of Iron Bull, and Dorian cracked a smile.  Talia grinned back, her spirits buoyed by their proximity to success.  

            "Ready?" Solas asked, once again ignoring them.  Dorian nodded.  He focused his energy away from the barrier and instead onto Cullen, causing the Commander to levitate just off the ground.  He didn't react, only slumped further onto Dorian's shoulder.  

            Talia tried to ignore the implications of this.  If Cullen lost consciousness entirely…  Well, she didn't know what would happen, but she was willing to bet her oversized Inquisitor sword that it wasn't good.  Instead, she reached into her belt for her powders, stealth being their biggest asset against the demons crowding the path.  She threw the shimmering substance over them, giving them what camouflage she could. 

            "Ready," she said.  Her voice wavered but she stood strong.  

            Solas nodded and braced himself.  With a flash, the barrier dropped.  "Run!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! The next chapter is almost entirely written, so it should be up soon! Almost done now.


	9. Back in Skyhold

Talia opened her eyes and pushed herself up.  Several figures swam before her.  Judging from their expressions, they were almost all shouting, but the sound was far away, hazy and muted.   She turned her head and winced, surprised to find her muscles sore from their journey through the Fade. 

            One of the figures knelt before her and its face coalesced into one eye and a set of horns.  Iron Bull.  His gigantic hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her the rest of the way up to sitting and starting to shake her.  If she squinted, she could just read his lips:  Are… You… Oh…

            Another figure moved over, slamming into Bull's shoulder and causing him to drop her abruptly.  The figure, towering over Bull's crouched form now, revealed itself to be Cassandra as the fog of her vision started to clear.  The Seeker's dark, piercing eyes cut through to lock with Talia's and worry creased her brow. 

            "Inquisitor…"  Cassandra's voice came from very far away, her title's syllables stretched out far more than normal in her clipped accent.  She knelt down, a blurry cup in her hand, and someone grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up to sitting.  They leaned her against the foot of the bed and Cassandra tilted the cup against her lips.  It was water, and she drank greedily. 

            Beside her, Bull seemed to be protesting, but his head was turned away just enough that she could no longer read his lips.  Even though her vision was clearing, she still couldn't understand him.   Sound was coming back to her, though in fits and starts. 

            "-oss… What the … in that … Vashedan … looks awful, and … Not even awake yet."

            "Let her be," a voice snapped, and Talia recognized it as Dorian's.  "This is traumatic enough for a mundane."  The mage's face appeared before her.  "Well hello beautiful," he cooed.  "Let's get you up, shall we?"  He tucked his arm under her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.  Before her, Cassandra caught her other arm while Bull hovered around, still muttering angrily about demons and lyrium and Fade-cursed magic. 

            She smiled at him in was she hoped as a reassuring way.  "I'm okay Bull, really."  The memories of their last few minutes in the Fade were muted, like they had happened years before, but she could still pick out the frantic run to Skyhold, the blast of energy Dorian had used to slam the main hall gates shut behind them.  The agonizing groan Cullen had made when the two mages set him down, his prompt collapse all the way to the stone floor.  The sizzle of the Anchor as Solas touched her forehead, whispering "Time to _wake up_ ," just like the dream they'd shared when the Inquisition first arrived at Skyhold.  Her last glimpse of Cullen in the Fade, lying on his bad arm with his amber eyes open but unseeing as her own slid shut. 

_Cullen._ "Where's the Commander?"  She asked, twisting in Dorian's arms.  She caught he and Bull sharing a dark look before her eyes found Solas already bent over the bed, his hands flying and elvhen spells whispered as he worked.  "Solas… Oh no…" 

            The elf stepped back with a final wave of his hand to reveal the Commander lying in bed, motionless as always.  Unchanged. 

            "Inquisitor…"  he hesitated, and Talia broke free of Dorian's arms.  She moved cautiously, Cassandra just behind her in case she stumbled, and sat on the edge of the bed opposite Cullen's still form.  Solas studied her for a moment, his eyes soft, before he spoke.  "The Commander did not wake up." 

            Behind Talia, Varric and Leliana speculated about what had happened.  Cassandra said something sharp and shut them up, but Bull soon added his opinion even as Dorian cautioned him.  The conversation rose, but neither Solas nor Talia added anything. 

            It didn't matter.  None of their words could do anything, could bring Cullen back.  They had done what they could, and it hadn't worked. 

            "Solas… "  She couldn't bring herself to finish the thought.  That their plan wouldn't work hadn't even crossed her mind;  the chances of such a powerful mage messing up were slim, and they had done everything they could from the real world.  This had been their only hope, and now it didn't matter.  They had failed. 

            Solas did not meet her eyes.  "It should have worked, Inquisitor…"  He cast a spell again, his words so soft she could barely hear their frustrated tone, and a searching purple light danced over the Commander's body.  "There is no indication of further injury, but the risks were severe.  Perhaps…" 

            Leliana piped up, her voice cold.  "Perhaps you were too late."  Talia's face crumpled at the suggestion, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. 

            "No one belongs in the Fade anyway," Bull added.  "It wouldn't be surprising if he couldn’t--"

            "Will you two shut it?" Varric snapped, his eyes on Talia.  "Curly's strong.  He can still make it." 

            "Varric's right," Dorian said.  He crouched down in front of Talia and searched her face. "You cannot lose hope." 

Talia said nothing.  Her heart was beating far too fast, her breathing too shallow, to respond.    Dorian noticed this and tucked her hands into his.  Cool magic slipped over her like a blanket and she felt herself start to calm.  Dorian gave her a sympathetic smile. 

            "We cannot be sure what happened, Inquisitor," Solas told her softly.  Some of his earlier confusion had been replaced by his normal detachment.   "The Commander spent over a week trapped in the thrall of a desire demon, and given that it is not his first encounter with their power, there is no way of knowing how he will react." 

            Talia jerked back a little, and her eyes found the elf's.  "I'm sorry -- not his first encounter?" 

            Solas and Cassandra exchanged uncomfortable looks.  Behind them, Leliana said something too quiet to understand to Varric and Bull before swiftly herding them out.  As they moved, Talia heard Varric protest and Bull mention coming back later, but she kept her eyes focused on the people before her.  Cassandra bent over and whispered quickly in Dorian's ear; when she finished, the mage gave Talia's hands a last squeeze before standing. 

            "I will be back later, darling," he said softly and kissed her hair. 

            Having regained her composure, Talia nodded and offered a small smile of understanding.  "Thank you," she replied quietly, and watched him leave.  

            When the heavy door to her quarters closed behind him, Cassandra turned to the Inquisitor. 

            "I did not know that the Commander had not told you," she began.  "I just assumed, given your friendship, that he explained everything when he told you he was going off lyrium." 

            "No, he didn't.  When he told me about the lyrium… it was almost like an afterthought when we got here from Haven.  I respect his decision, so I didn't press him for the reason why." 

            The two exchanged looks again before Solas stepped away. 

            "I will give you some privacy," he said quietly before moving back to the Commander's bedside and beginning to check him over once more.  

            Cassandra gestured for Talia to follow her over near the fire.  "What do you know of Cullen's life before the Inquisition?"  She asked. 

            Talia's heart fluttered.  She'd heard piles of stories from Cullen as they'd played chess or roamed the battlements together, and she recounted a quick summary of these to Cassandra.  Playing chess with Mia as a child, how he longed to be a templar and left home when he was young, even some darker stories about his time in Kirkwall before the Champion helped reshape the city…  It was only as Talia was speaking that she realized there was a gap in Cullen's timeline. 

            "Cassandra, Cullen was in Ferelden during the Blight, right?"  The Seeker nodded gravely.  "And he was a templar then, but he never talks about it…"  Talia trailed off. 

            "He was stationed at Kinloch Hold, in the midst of Lake Calenhad."

            Her heart sank.  "We heard of the rebellion there, but I never knew the details."  She had been far away in the Free Marches during the Blight, and quite young, but she remembered the stories about what had happened to Ferelden.  Chief among those stories was the rebellion of one of the Circles; its mages' use of blood magic had been the source for much reform throughout the Circles further north, including Kirkwall. 

            Cassandra recounted the story quietly.  "The rebellion itself was devastating.  Blood magic everywhere, abominations overtaking mages.  Complete chaos.  Almost all the mages, and most of the templars, were lost before the Hero of Ferelden intervened and saved who she could.  One of those she saved was Cullen."

            "Oh Maker…" Suddenly, his failure to return from the Fade did not seem so surprising.  

            "He was trapped, held prisoner by enchantments while those around him perished.  He was tortured by demons," Cassandra said bluntly.  "When the Hero found him, he had been there for nearly a week.  He later told me that she looked so like the form the desire demon had taken, he didn't believe she was real.  When the Hero's companions, including Leliana, broke him free, he… responded badly."  She sighed.  "I will not repeat what I have heard.  But the templars sent him away to recover after that, before he was transferred to Kirkwall.  I do not believe he ever received the help he needed." 

            Talia swallowed and wiped her eyes.  "I had no idea he dealt with that," she told Cassandra quietly. 

            Cassandra shook her head.  "That is not surprising.  He only revealed his past to me when he joined the Inquisition, when he decided to stop taking lyrium.  I had known him for close to two years before that, and he had said nothing."  She put a hand on Talia's shoulder.  "He _will_ wake up, stubborn man that he is, and when he does… he will need help.  Whether he admits it or not." 

            Her dark eyes bored into Talia's, and the younger woman nodded.  "I know that.  Thank you, Cassandra, for telling me." 

            "I do not know that he would want you to know," she replied, and Talia could see the uncertainty in her eyes.  "But I believe you should.  If you want to be his …friend, you will need to know.  And he will need your support." 

            "He'll have it."  At her words, Cassandra reached forward and drew her into an unexpected hug. 

            "Thank you," Cassandra whispered, her voice full with threatening tears.  "He is my friend, and I would see him cared for."  Talia found herself leaning against the Seeker's tall frame as she clung to her.  The two women stayed like this for a moment before Cassandra pulled away. 

            "Now. Since you are back," she said, straightening up and clearing her throat.  "I have matters I must attend to.  Please inform me when there is a change in his condition." 

            Talia gave her a small smile.  "I will.  And thank you."  The Seeker nodded and swept from the room.  Talia glanced at the bed to find Solas studying her.  

            "He will wake up," the elf said, the conviction in his voice unmistakable.  

            "I want to believe you, Solas," she said, sighing.  After a moment, her resolve solidified, and she stepped back to the bed to look down at Cullen's sleeping face.  "I do believe you."  

            The mage touched her shoulder before he too took his leave.  

\---

            For the next few days, as the Commander continued to sleep, Talia found herself nearly overwhelmed with the attention and support she received.  Varric came by her quarters multiple times per day to read to Cullen, and Dorian kept her flush with strong coffee to enhance what little rest she achieved.  Leliana and Josephine sent notes and flowers to boost her spirits, but those were soon accompanied with reports as time passed.  Cole constantly snuck pastries and fruit into the stacks of work though, and that made them more bearable.  Bull would bring her a real breakfast  in the mornings and 'kidnap' her off to the tavern to visit Sera in the evenings.  Even Vivienne visited once, offering Talia a limp hug but an expensive bottle of wine instead. 

            She insisted on staying in her quarters as Cullen slept.  A make-shift bed was created out of her couch, and Bull and Dorian helped her drag it behind a changing screen to create a sort of bedroom in one corner.  Her desk stayed pile high with work that she rarely got to, and Dorian took to reading in her room in the afternoons. 

            Most days were spent trying to figure out how to help Cullen.  They still did not know what had happened to trap the Commander in the Fade.  Solas continued to administer potions and cast over him, but the effects remained the same.  Dorian occasionally stood over him and chastised him for worrying everyone, and once Talia had come back from breakfast to find Cassandra there, silently glaring down at the unconscious Commander. 

            But nothing changed.  Solas tried to keep an eye on his previous location in the Fade, but his ability to find the man was dwindling.   Cole often sat next to Cullen on her bed, muttering strings of frustrated-sounding nonsense that neither Solas nor Talia could piece together.  Occasionally a prayer would come through, the words strong and clear, and in those moments Talia tried not to hope too fervently.  Despite her encouragements, Cole didn't seem to be able to locate the Commander either. 

            As time wore on, as more than a week since their return from the Fade passed, Solas became more and more silent on the subject of the Commander's recovery.  He continued to work, but he refused to speculate on what might be happening.  Talia knew this wasn't good news, knew that Solas was doing his best, but she couldn't help wondering what else they could be doing. 

            When the second week since her dream had sent them rushing back to Skyhold passed, Talia started her work as the Inquisitor again.  She still refused to travel, insisting that she be close just in case, but even she could no longer put off her responsibilities.  Business -- including letters, reports, military movements, and more -- picked back up at Leliana's insistence, and she withdrew into the sanctuary the work provided.  There was some peace to be had there, when she didn't have to think beyond her duties. 

            Before long, she'd gotten used to the quiet of her quarters, the rhythm of Cullen's breathing and the fire crackling and nothing else. 

            Outside her quarters, the Inquisition carried on.  Cassandra had settled into Cullen's tower with nary a grumble to the Inquisitor.  Of course, when Talia wasn't around, Cassandra complained endlessly to Varric and Blackwall about the workload Cullen had put himself under, but she refused to mention it to the Inquisitor herself.  Josephine had dutifully kept the Commander's illness quiet, refusing to entertain Solas's hints that they may need to notify his family and make certain arrangements. 

            Talia wasn't sure if this refusal was for her sake, or for Josephine's, or for the appearance of the Inquisition itself, but she didn't question it.  The illusion of hope was just as important as the thing itself, much as she tried to deny her flagging spirits.  Cole brought her more snacks than ever, but nothing helped. 

            It was into this atmosphere of feigned calm and questionable optimism that the Commander awoke. 


	10. Awake in her Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I had a small computer emergency and have spent the week trying to recover files and outlines for my fanfic stuff. Never fear: I found it all, and thus updates shall pick up again!

A noise strangely like a groan jolted Talia awake.  She sat up quickly, a report stuck to the side of her face with drool, and looked around.  Nothing seemed to be out of place -- Varric hadn't yet arrived, Solas had already come and gone, and Dorian likely wasn't even out of bed yet, much to her irritation.  She'd been up for hours, struggling to work through the piles of reports Josephine had brought up late last night, and to her chagrin, she'd fallen asleep on them. 

            The noise came again, this time more drawn out and pained, and her eyes flew to the bed. 

            Cullen's eyes were open. 

            They stared at each other for a long moment, neither quite sure they could believe what they were seeing.  Then Cullen pushed himself roughly up on one arm, a groan leaving his lips yet again, and choked out, "Talia?" 

            She didn't think, just flung herself up from her desk and across the room.  The report fluttered to the ground behind her.   He was knocked back as she threw herself on him, but the ache of his tired body barely registered.  Instead, his hands came up to clutch at her back and her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.   Tears ran down her cheeks, and she buried her face against his neck.  His nose pressed into her hair as he clung to her, breathing in the light scent of crystal grace that surrounded her.  They stayed locked in each other's arms until Talia felt him try to take a deep breath that was inhibited by her weight on his chest.  She pulled away, her body still shaky from crying, and prayed that she hadn't hurt him.

            When she finally sat up, leaving his skin damp with tears, she found herself searching his face.  His amber eyes did the same, absorbing all he saw.  Their hands found each other's on the bed, and she squeezed his fingers tight. 

            "Cullen," she said quietly.  "You're back…" 

            "Talia, I --"  He was interrupted with a fit of coughing and she jumped up to fill a cup with water.  He tried to take it from her but couldn't get himself off the bed enough to drink. 

            "Let me help," she said quietly and tucked her free hand under his neck.  He managed to get an elbow underneath himself and between the two of them, he was able to take a drink, then another.  Then, as she put the cup aside, he collapsed back onto the pillows. 

            "I'll be right back," she said quietly and stood up, hurrying down the stairs to ask a guard to find Solas.  As she stepped back up the stairs, she paused at the top and studied Cullen. 

            He lay largely motionless, his eyes roving the room.  The fact that his eyes were open stunned her.  She stayed still, watching, until his eyes found hers and a small smile broke over his pale face. 

            She walked back over to him and sat on the edge of the bed.  "I was worried I'd never see you again," she told him, taking his hand gently.  He squeezed her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.  On impulse, Talia leaned down, resting her forehead against his.  His eyes drifted closed. 

            "So was I," he whispered.  She clenched her eyes shut, silently thanking the Maker that He'd seen fit to return her Commander to her. 

            "Cullen…"  She opened her eyes to find him staring up at her.  "I think I'm--" 

            The door below them opened with a heavy crash and footsteps sprinted up the stairs.  Talia sat up quickly, blushing, and turned to find Solas leaning against the rail, trying to catch his breath. 

            "Inquisitor," he gasped out.  "I came as quickly as I could! What's happened?"  

            Talia smiled at him, peace in her face for the first time in days.  "The Commander's awake." 

            Solas headed over to the bed, concern etched across his face. "Perhaps next time you could choose your words more carefully.  I assumed it was an emergency." 

            Talia rolled her eyes but did not stand.  Solas maneuvered around her. 

            "How are you feeling, Commander?" 

            Cullen coughed as he tried to speak.  "I'm… not sure, honestly."  Solas nodded and started poking at the Commander's face, staring at his pupils and checking the inside of his mouth.  Cullen cringed away at first until Talia squeezed his hand. 

            "Your throat looks irritated but your eyes seem fine.  May I check your pulse, Commander?"  Cullen nodded as best he could and Solas tucked his fingers against his wrist.  After a pause, he frowned briefly.  "It's a little fast."  He looked at the bedside table, where the cup of water waited beside a health potion.  "Do you think you can sit up to take a potion?" 

            "I, um…"  he hesitated, and Talia smiled to herself.  Still reluctant to accept help, even now. 

            "Here," she said.  "If you can sit up a little, I can slip behind you and support you."  Cullen eyed her as she moved, and she squeezed his hand to reassure him.  When he nodded, she and Solas helped him sit up and she wiggled into position, her back against the headboard. 

            "Are you sure?" The indecision in his voice was near-palpable.  

            "Of course."  She shifted so her legs were on either side of him, and reached for his shoulders.  Between the two of them, she and Solas managed to maneuver him so he was further up the bed, slightly reclined with his back against Talia's chest and his head practically on one of her shoulders.  He protested the whole time. 

            "See? Not so bad," she said gently, her lips close to his ear. 

            "I'm not a child," he muttered even as she felt his body relax against hers.  Warmth spread through her, and she didn't question if it was Cullen's body or just him. 

            "No," she agreed, running a hand down his arm.  "But you're not as heavy as you think you are without all that armor." 

            Something about her words bothered him, because he tensed up and didn't respond.  Solas pressed a potion into his hands, but he wasn't able to get his left arm to cooperate.  Talia couldn't see his face, but his frustration was obvious as the mage instead tilted the potion against his lips. 

            When it was finished, Cullen settled back against her chest.  The urge to lean her head against his washed over her, and Talia had to fight it back down.  The contact between them was easy, safe, right now -- she didn't want to push it. 

            The rasp of Cullen's long-unused voice brought her back.  "How long was I out, Solas? What happened?" 

            "You don't remember?"  Talia couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. 

            Cullen hesitated.  "It's … hazy.  I remember going to the War Room to check on troop movements, that's clear.  But after that… "  He coughed again, and Talia passed him the cup of water.  He drank before continuing.  "I remember a house, I think… and everything was green and smelled like sulfur… there were people too, but…"  He looked up at the mage, desperation in his eyes.  "I can't remember their faces.  Please. What happened to me?" 

            The mage conjured up a healing spell as he answered.  "You collapsed, Commander.  There was a blood clot in your brain."  He proceeded to relay the events of the previous weeks: the frantic rush to remove the clot, moving him to the Inquisitor's quarters so he was somewhere quiet, the vigils at his bedside as Talia raced home, the trip into the Fade.  Where another storyteller might have hesitated or even waited, Solas plunged right into the desire demon's thrall, sparing no details of Cullen's tenure under its spell.  He even described the demon's disguise  and its horrific 'children' before moving on to relay their escape from the Fade and the long week of care and tension leading up until this moment. 

            Talia felt Cullen's body tense tighter and tighter as he listened.  He didn't move much when the mage described the illusion he'd been under, but she could feel the anxiety roiling through his body in the hard lines of his muscles.  The description of the demon as her, however, inspired more; the Commander turned his head away from hers so she could no longer see his profile and shifted his arms until her hands slipped off.  He wasn't strong enough to sit up on his own though, and so he was trapped.  

            The awkwardness of her position on the bed suddenly hit Talia, and Cullen's body against hers no longer felt warm and safe.   She fidgeted in place, uncomfortable.  He must have noticed, shifting so less of his weight rested against her, but said nothing. 

            "How long was I out, Solas," he repeated when the mage's story finished. 

            Now Solas hesitated.  He finished his spell, the magic sliding smoothly over the bed.  Talia felt some of her exhaustion slip away as she was engulfed, replaced by the sheer weight of the current situation.  This whole experience… she remembered every horrible minute of waiting, every bit of support from her friends, every shift in her emotions. 

            Cullen had none of that.  Talia felt an intimacy that he hadn't gained, and like a fool, she'd been acting on it. 

            "Cullen --" She began, but Solas cut her off. 

            "Two weeks, Commander.  A little more than two weeks."  Cullen lurched forward in shock.  His body weight dropped roughly onto his arms as he absorbed this information, head in hands.  Talia grasped his shoulders as he fell, trying to stabilize him, and he jerked away from her. 

            Pain washed over her, and she leaned back, away. 

            "Commander…" 

            "How do I know this isn't still the Fade?"  Cullen's voice, still raspy, was thick with emotion.  "How do I know I'm out?  You said the demon was her," He jerked one hand backward toward Talia, and she flinched.  The Commander never looked up.  "And I believed it… Andraste forgive me, I wanted to believe it…"  His voice trailed off, and a small sob escaped him. 

            Solas looked at Talia.  "Inquisitor…"  When he dropped his eyes from hers, she knew what he was going to ask. 

            "It's okay, Solas," she said, and wiggled her body out from behind Cullen's slumped, shaking form.  "I'll go."  She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, feet on the floor and hands dug into the mattress beside her.  Her mind knew she had to go -- Cullen's reaction proved that easily enough -- but her heart wanted to do nothing less than go to him, embrace him, comfort him, and take all this uncertainty and pain away. 

            But she couldn't do that.  That intimacy… it was hers, and not _theirs_.  With a deep breath, she stood up. Almost immediately, Solas grasped her elbow and pulled her toward the stairs. 

            "Would you send up..." The mage hesitated, thinking.  "Who is the Commander's closest friend?" 

            A long, painfully awkward silence ensued until Talia smiled softly.  She glanced at the bed, where Cullen was now slumped to one side, face pressed into the blankets, his breathing harsh and unsteady and his hands grasping at the pillows around him. 

            Had anyone asked her that question yesterday, she would have laughed and said herself. 

            Now…

            "Dorian," she answered finally.  "I'll send Dorian up, he'll be able to help." 

            Solas nodded.  "Thank you, Inquisitor."  He studied the Commander's form for a long moment, long enough that Talia started down the stairs, before he turned back to her.  In an unprecedented move, he leaned over and hugged her. 

            She was frozen on the spot until she felt tears prick her eyes, and then she hugged him back, grateful. 

            "Please don't take this personally,"  the mage whispered as he pulled abruptly away.  "It has been a trying experience.  He will need time, and help, to come to terms with it." 

            "I'll try," she said, wiping her eyes.  Solas nodded and went back to the bed. 

            Talia stayed at the top of the stairs for a while, studying the scene before her.  Solas sat down on the bed, surprisingly close to Cullen, and touched his head with a tenderness she'd rarely seen.  Cullen didn't seem to respond, but she saw Solas reach out to touch his arm, and the Commander shifted.  The low mumble of the mage's comforting voice reached her ears, and she heard Cullen rumble in response.  

            The tears still threatened, but Talia didn't let them fall.  She couldn't.  Once again, she had to be the unflappable Inquisitor: she must inform the others that the Commander had woken, and she had to send Dorian up to help Solas calm Cullen.  Her own reaction had to be fitting and excited, thrilled to see her Commander alive and well again.  Before long, her advisers would drop all the duties and trips she'd been ignoring back on her, and she'd have work to throw herself into again.  

            Her own feelings didn't matter.  Whether or not she and Cullen would be _anything_ again didn't matter.  

            When Solas glanced in her direction, quiet pain on his face, she nodded again, and started down the stairs.  


	11. Awake in Her Quarters, Part 2

            Dorian found Talia sitting in the garden, her head in her hands.  He hadn't intended to wander that way this morning, instead thinking he'd continue his research or perhaps just enjoy a leisurely breakfast before he went upstairs to check on Talia.  The rumors swirling the Great Hall, however, whispered of Solas sprinting upstairs to the Inquisitor's quarters and her sudden appearance not long after, broken and crying and refusing to speak to anyone. 

            Something had happened that morning. 

            His heart sank at the obvious inferences that accompanied the rumors: The Commander had taken a turn for the worse, was perhaps dying or already dead, and the Inquisitor couldn't handle it.  Dorian didn't want to believe that, couldn't believe that, but the dark look Bull gave him from one of the tables in the Hall told him that whatever had happened, it certainly wasn't positive.  The gigantic qunari had pressed two mugs of coffee into his hands and directed him at the door to the garden. 

            "Go talk with her," he encouraged.  "I'll keep everyone else out." 

            Dorian now settled himself gracefully beside the Inquisitor, the coffee waiting on the nearby table where he and the Commander had often played chess. 

            Talia didn't look up when he sat, only spoke in a voice thick with emotion.  "He's awake, Dorian." 

            For a moment, the mage questioned why Talia was alone in the garden if her Commander was indeed awake, but the context of the morning quickly answered that question.  He placed a careful hand on her shoulder and squeezed.  "It did not go as you hoped, then."  It wasn't a question. 

            Talia shook her head, refusing to look up.

            Dorian picked up the mug he'd brought out for her and held it out to her.  After a moment,  the bitter smell of the coffee reached her nose through her clenched hands and she peeked out between her fingers.  Dorian wiggled his eyebrows at her as she caught his eye. 

            "Thank you," she breathed, sitting up a little to accept the mug.  She sipped at the rich liquid, her eyes roving over the gardens before them, studying the peaceful scenery as she drank.  Beside her, Dorian took up his own mug but did not drink. 

            "Do you want to tell me what happened?"  He asked quietly, not looking at her. 

            She did not answer for a long time.  Dorian eventually shrugged to himself and turned his attention to his coffee; he knew if he waited, she would tell him. 

            When her mug was nearly half-gone, she finally spoke.  "I had to leave, Dorian.  Cullen's awake, but… he is not convinced this is real."  With halting words, she recounted all that had happened that morning:  The rough, desperate embrace as Cullen first woke, her near-confession, Solas's interruption, and Cullen's collapse as the past few weeks were revealed.  She did not weave in her reactions as she spoke, but Dorian heard the raw hurt in every word.   

            When the story was finished, Talia was silent for a long time.  Beside her, Dorian drank his coffee and said nothing. 

            Talia opened her mouth to speak several times as the silence passed, and each time Dorian waited, fighting to urge to prompt her into speaking.  Eventually, she gave a harsh laugh.

            "I just…  For a minute, I thought it was going to be easy!" she burst out, slamming her mug down on the table.  "He woke up, we hugged, talked… I thought we'd just…" She made a vague gesture.  "… be.  Together, I guess."  She shook her head.  "I should have known." 

            Dorian thought about this before he responded.  He didn't want to be cruel to his friend, but he also knew that what she had hoped for was close to impossible.  And right now, she needed to know that. 

            "Yes, you should have," he said gently, squeezing her shoulder.  She froze, her muscles tensing, before she moved to look at him. 

            "What?" 

            "You should have known that wasn't going to happen," Dorian repeated.  He offered her a small smile as she glared at him.  "You were there in the Fade.  You saw inside his mind.  And you more than anyone should know that people don't get over experiences like that immediately." 

            "Dorian, that's --"

            "Accurate, my friend." 

            She glared at him, and he could practically see the murderous thoughts running through her head.  He sipped his coffee intently, his eyebrows rising above the rim of the mug.  Talia didn't scare him.  Much. 

            "How can you say that?"  She growled when he didn't rise to her challenge.  "How can you possibly say I'm not being understanding?  Maker's balls, I've been by the man's side since I got back! I nearly got myself killed trying to rescue him! I--"

            Dorian interrupted her.  "And does that mean he owes it to you to be okay?  That he must put discomfort and trials aside for what you want?"

            She lurched back as if he'd smacked her, and Dorian watched her deflate beside him. 

            "Of… of course not," she whispered, horror on her face as her words finally reached her heart.  "Never.  I just… I want him to be okay, and…"  She took a deep breath, and Dorian finished the thought for her. 

            "And you aren't sure how to do that," he reached over and squeezed her hand again.  "I know.  But, Talia, listen to me: I'm not saying that _nothing_ will ever happen between you two."

            Talia perked up at that, but he could see the remains of guilt on her face. 

            "The Commander needs time before … anything, really.  Healing cannot be rushed."  He shifted to look her in the eye.  "Maker knows, teasing the man about you has been irresistible, but  he is haunted by this past.  And he needs to heal from this.  There is no rushing that."  Talia shifted to lean against him, and he felt the tension leave her shoulders as she did. 

            "I… can do that, I think," she said quietly. 

            "I'm glad," he replied.  "This is fresh for him.  We've had time to ponder it, to think it through and move past it.  He has not." 

            She turned to stare at him, her green eyes filled with tears.  "I'm going to stay away, for a few days, I think.  To let that… to let him recover."  She dropped her gaze back to the gardens.  "He deserves that without my upsetting him."  

            "Don't lose faith, darling," Dorian said.  He wrapped an arm around her waist to hug her.  "Everything will be all right."  

            Talia gave him a sideways glance and a shaky smile.  "Dorian Pavus, I don't think I've ever witnessed you so serious.  And giving actual advice!" 

            Dorian pretended to cringe.  "Don't spread it around, or I'll never maintain my frivolous and might I say charming reputation."   He stood.  "Now, I believe you said Solas wanted me?" 

            "Indeed he does."

            Dorian brushed off his clothing and gave her a saucy wink.  "Surprising.  I mean, that man does make bald work.  Perhaps he's interested in trying something else… exotic." 

            "You're incorrigible." 

            "I try."  He leaned down and kissed her forehead.  "I will bring some of your things down so you can work.  Do take care of yourself in the meantime." 

            "I will," she said.  "And Dorian… take care of Cullen for me, okay?  If I can't be up there…  he needs someone.  Even if it's not me." 

            The mage's heart swelled.  Here, finally, was the woman he felt honored to call his best friend.  Her care for others, even when it conflicted with her own desires, was like seeing the real her again. 

            "Of course."  He gave her one last smile and headed inside.  Though he would never admit it, he wasn't quite sure what to make of Cullen's reaction to his awakening.  Perhaps he was profoundly scared of being trapped again; he'd admitted some of his sufferings to Dorian in the past, though laced with threats should the mage ever tell the Inquisitor what he'd learned.  Perhaps he was embarrassed -- it had been a rather mundane illusion that had captured the Commander's heart so thoroughly, yes, but it had been quite revealing.   Perhaps his friend had once again settled into the cycle Dorian had so often talked him out of: that he was entirely unworthy of someone like Talia, despite all evidence to the contrary. 

            Dorian sighed and stopped in the Great Hall to make himself another cup of coffee.  No matter what the reasoning was, the Commander would need help making sense of it, and Dorian was sure that it would be a long day. 

\---

 Dorian made sure to knock loudly and stomp all the way up the stairs into Talia’s chambers.  The last thing he wanted was to surprise its current inhabitants.  He could hear the low murmur of Solas’s voice and the crackling of the fire, but Cullen’s voice was conspicuously absent. 

            When he finally got to the top of the stairs, he saw why.  The Commander was propped up with every pillow available, including from Talia’s couch-bed, but the man’s face was a stoic mask, his mouth a hard line.  His eyes looked glazed over as Dorian approached, their focus lost somewhere in the room.  Solas stood beside him, his words pitched to maintain that low, soothing tone of a healer.  He glanced up when Dorian stepped into the room, but Cullen’s eyes didn’t move. 

            “Thank you for coming up,” the elf said quietly.  He shifted his attention briefly back to Cullen, surveying him for a moment before closing his mouth again.  Stepping away from the Commander’s bedside, he cupped Dorian’s elbow and led him out onto the balcony. 

            “Perhaps you will have some luck speaking with the Commander,” he said before Dorian could even speak.  “He refuses to talk with me.” 

            “Well, you are far less charming than I,” Dorian quipped.  He took a quick sip from his coffee, the warmth suddenly necessary with the wind from the mountains.  

            Solas ignored him.  “Did Talia fill you in?” 

            “She did, and I wonder if perhaps she isn’t the better option to speak with him.” 

            “She may be,” Solas agreed.  “But her presence… created some distress for the Commander.” 

            “So I gathered,” Dorian said dryly.  The men stood in silence then, surveying the landscape beyond Skyhold.  There wasn’t much to say; both knew what had happened in the Fade, and neither had a good solution to offer the Inquisitor or the Commander. 

            “I wonder if –”

            “Perhaps if –”  They glanced at each other. 

            “You first,” Dorian said, waving a hand at the elf.  “You are the healer, after all.” 

            Solas briefly inclined his head in thanks.  “The Commander will need time to physically heal, including regaining his strength.  Perhaps that will aid his mental struggle as well.” 

            Dorian smirked.  “I was going to suggest something similar.  But I wonder if our lovely Inquisitor might be able to accompany him to give them a chance to recover together.” 

            Solas stared off into the distance for a time.  “That could work…” he eventually relented.  “But I do not think it wise to start with that course of action.” 

            “Considering the Commander cannot currently stand up himself, I would think not.” 

            Solas gave him a look before he spoke again.  “For now, I think you should speak with him.  He has… not been responsive for quite some time.  Since Talia left, in fact.” 

            “I wonder why,” Dorian muttered, but Solas ignored him. 

            “You are close with him.  Perhaps he will be better in your care for a time.”  Dorian wondered if this was indeed true.  To his mind, Cullen would be better off with the Inquisitor, and he mentioned this to Solas. 

            The elf sighed.  “I… would be inclined to agree, excepting his reaction to her previously.  He expressed reservations about both his physical health and his location.”  Privately Dorian marveled at Solas’s word choice.  ‘Reservations’ didn’t seem strong enough to convey the complete breakdown Talia had described.  Solas continued. “I also remain uncertain as to the extent of his injuries.  He is too weak for me to do a physical assessment yet, but his memory issues suggest there has been... damage.”  He turned to look Dorian in the eye.  “I do not wish to further traumatize him now, not until we know if he will make a full recovery.” 

            Dorian nodded.  He could hear the hedges in Solas’s assessment of the Commander’s condition.  How much time had Cullen lost?  How much of his abilities?  The man was too proud to ask for help, and too self-deprecating to give himself credit for what he could do.  He would settle for nothing less than a full recovery, or at least put on the façade of one, and Dorian knew that too would take its toll. 

            “I understand,” he said, and he knew Solas heard the depth of his answer.  He briefly touched Dorian’s shoulder before departing, his quiet steps padding across the room and down the stairs. 

            Dorian stayed on the balcony for a few minutes after that, staring off into the sky.  He turned over the morning's conversations in his head, looking for a way to reconcile everything.  Time, time, everyone needed _time_ to come to terms with what had happened, and yet he knew the Inquisition was about to come crashing down on them.  As soon as word spread that Cullen was awake – and it would by the end of the day – he would be swamped with visitors and well-wishers asking about his recovery.  And the remaining members of the War Council would soon drop everything back onto Talia’s shoulders, which meant he would likely be leaving Skyhold with her in only a few days.  There wasn’t nearly enough time for everything that needed to be said, needed to be done, before all that. 

            Downing the rest of his coffee, he headed back into the room, closing the balcony doors behind him. With a wave of his hand, he quieted the roaring fire, and he spent a moment straightening the Inquisitor’s desk before he turned to the bed. 

            Cullen was still staring off into space.  But now, looking closely, Dorian could see the tight lines around his mouth and nose that stress always brought out and the red, swollen flesh around his eyes.  His hands were clenched in the blankets around him.  The bones of his cheeks were more pronounced, his weight loss while unconscious more obvious than ever.  The mage knew that, if he were to remove his shirt, the Commander’s ribs and hips would stand in stark contrast to his body. 

            He made a mental note to get the Commander some indulgent Orlesian food as soon as possible. 

            Dorian stepped closer to the bed, circling it for a moment.  He noted that Cullen’s eyes flicked briefly to him before moving away again: progress!

            He took another step forward and sat down on the edge of the bed.  Once again, Cullen’s eyes flew to him before departing.        

            “I am glad to see you awake, Commander,” he said hesitantly.  “The garden has been far too quiet without our chess matches, and my illicit skills grow rusty for want of practice.”  The allusion to his cheating at chess always brought a rise out of Cullen, but today the Commander said nothing.  Dorian could have sworn he saw a muscle flex in his jaw though, so he continued.  “I am in fact quite relieved, for I admit I was growing bored with being the prettiest man in Skyhold.  The competition has been so tiresome without your stomping about, scowling at recruits and snaring hearts with that scar of yours.”  That muscle twitched in the Commander’s jaw again, and Dorian smirked.  “Plus, I have nothing with which to tease the Inquisitor with you incapacitated.  She’s been decidedly lackluster without your charm to entertain her.” 

            That was too much.  Cullen’s face stilled, his hands clenching white with strain at the mention of Talia.  Dorian cringed to himself.  He’d been hoping that perhaps a casual reference to how distraught Talia had been might help Cullen see sense, but clearly he’d been wrong. 

            Slowly he reached out to touch Cullen’s hand.  “I know you’re scared, Commander,” he said softly, dropping all the pretense and teasing from his voice.  “I know you’re hurting.”  Cullen’s eyes shifted to him, clouded and full of fear.   “I’m here to talk if you wish, but I’m not going to push you,” he assured him and squeezed his hand once before letting go.  “I am, however, going to keep you company,” and the teasing note came back to his voice with a vengeance. 

            He jumped off the bed and headed over to the screen that formed Talia’s make-shift bedroom in the corner.  The prickly feeling on his back told him that Cullen was watching, but he didn’t explain.  Instead, he rooted around the bookshelves until he found a gigantic tome about elven magic and carried it triumphantly back to the bed.  He arranged himself carefully so he didn’t jostle Cullen and opened the book to a page at random. 

            “I’ve been so looking forward to catching up on my studies today,” he told the Commander with a wink, and started reading aloud. 

            After about ten minutes of lecture over the use of veilfire as emotional inscription, Dorian looked up.  Cullen still wasn’t looking at him, but his hands were unclenched and the muscles in his jaw were working as he listened.  “Do you think I could learn to do such a thing? A Tevinter Altus?  This text suggests it is true, but I have my doubts.”  He speculated aloud on the possibilities for a few minutes, being sure to add as much tedious magical theory as he could.  Cullen still didn’t move, but Dorian could see the corner of his mouth twitching. 

            Progress once again!

            He turned back to the book, his energy redoubled, and resumed reading aloud.  Long minutes passed, ten, then twenty, then thirty, until Dorian no longer knew how long he’d been reading.  The musings on veilfire and its practical applications for accomplishes mages were surprisingly engrossing, much more than he'd anticipated.  Before long Dorian found himself pondering if he could, in fact, learn to manipulate the substance in such a way.  He was scrambling for a quill so he could make notes when he was interrupted.  

            “Dorian,” Cullen croaked, his voice rusty from disuse and anguish.  “This is the most boring thing I have ever experienced.” 

            Dorian tried to hide the way his eyes widened and moustache twitched.  “Really, Commander?  Because I recall your insistence, once upon a time, that we memorize all the variations on the Antivan defense when playing chess.  That surely trumps this for sheer boredom.” 

            “That’s strategy,” Cullen coughed.  “It’s different.” 

            “It is boring, is what it is,” Dorian insisted, and put the book aside. He handed Cullen a nearby glass of water.  “I am relieved, however, to see that you are indeed conscious.  I suspected, you see, but I was not able to procure much evidence beyond being able to see your lovely eyes.” 

            Cullen rolled said eyes at the mage.

            “Never fear, Commander.  Your absence did nothing to dissuade my attraction for you.”  He winked at Cullen again, and the Commander groaned.  It started as aggravation but quickly morphed into genuine pain, and Dorian stood to help him. 

            “I wasn’t trying to pain you, Commander,” he murmured as he helped Cullen adjust his position in the bed.  Cullen tried to chuckle but only ended up groaning again.  He tried to push himself up on his left arm but it collapsed under him.  Dorian just caught him and eased him back down on the pillows.  “Don’t hurt yourself,” the mage muttered. “Talia would never forgive me.” 

            Cullen had been wiggling in an attempt to support himself but froze at the mention of the Inquisitor.  “I hurt her, didn’t I,” he said.  It was not a question. 

            Dorian stared at him, frozen with his hands on the other man’s shoulders.  “I… she…”  He swallowed roughly and words suddenly poured from him to hide his discomfort.  "Your being sick has thrown her -- she spends so much time caring for everyone else, and then to have such a thing impact her so greatly… She has had a rough few weeks, but she will recover, I believe."  

            The Commander coughed again as he tried to sit up.  "No. Today.  When she was here.  I hurt her feelings."  

            Dorian pursed his lips and did not look at him for a long moment.  "Yes," he finally admitted.  "You did."    

            Cullen dropped his gaze to his lap.  “I did not mean to.” 

            “No, of course not.”  Dorian sat down, leaving his hand clenched on Cullen’s arm.  “But you did.  She’s been by your side since –”

            “Is this real, Dorian?”  He asked abruptly.  His eyes rose to meet the mage’s, boring into them as if demanding a response.  “Being here, in Skyhold, safe…  Is this real?” 

            “It is real, Commander.  You are here, and you’re safe.  Nothing’s going to hurt you now.” 

            They lapsed into silence.  If he were honest, Dorian no longer knew what to say.  What would help Cullen? Or Talia? He wasn’t sure there was anything that could. 

            Eventually, Dorian ventured, “How do you feel?” 

            Cullen didn’t look up.  “I don’t… I don’t feel much of anything.  I feel numb.  One of my arms can barely move, my legs aren’t strong enough for me to stand, and my mind keeps reminding me that I should be going home to my wife, my children…”  His voice wavered and finally broke.  Silent tears rolled down his face, caught in the long lines that had again formed in his skin. “But it was all an illusion,” he whispered. 

            “You remember it,” Dorian questioned, surprised. 

            Cullen’s eyes shifted to the mage.  “Yes. I… we had… there were….” 

            “I was there, Cullen,” Dorian said quietly when the Commander couldn’t go on.  “We saw everything.” 

            “We?” 

            Dorian sighed and closed his eyes briefly, wondering how much to tell him. That part of his memory was still missing, and perhaps it was for the best.  “Solas, Talia, and I tried to rescue you.  We… found you, with the demon.  I am sorry, Cullen.”  The Commander sank further into the pillows and squeezed his eyes shut.  A pained noise left him. 

            “I wanted to believe it,” he whispered.  “That life, that future… that she could love me like that…” 

            At this, Dorian touched Cullen’s arm gently.  “She can, Cullen.”  The Commander quickly opened his eyes.  “Maker, she already does.  Cullen, we had to pry her from your bedside from the moment she returned to Skyhold.  She hasn’t left, has barely slept or eaten in days.  She’s…”  He trailed off, barely able to avoid telling Cullen about how many times he’d found Talia in tears in the past weeks.    

            Before him, the Commander’s face showed clear disbelief, and Dorian felt a rush of anger.  Cullen couldn’t help that he’d been trapped by a demon wearing Talia’s face, but surely he had seen all of Talia’s obvious affection before that.  The man had to suspect how she felt about him.  Maker’s breath, Cullen had even admitted his own growing feelings to Dorian weeks before he’d fallen ill! And now… 

Dorian pushed himself up and stalked away from the bed before he said something foolish.  Or smacked the Commander upside the head.  Grabbing his coffee mug off the Inquisitor’s desk, he tried to drink before remembering it was empty, and he tossed it back down with a bang.  The temperature in the room was skyrocketing, the fire blazing as his magic crackled through his hands.  The balcony doors crashed open with a gesture, and the room cooled as he stormed out.   

The wind quickly brought his anger back under control and his thoughts with it.  He ran his hands over his moustache, his hair.  He hated getting angry, preferring the aloof indifference he’d cultivated for so long in Tevinter.  But this!  His friends were suffering all around, and there was so little he could do.  He curled the ends of his moustache around his fingers and took a deep breath, holding it for as long as he could to calm his heartbeat. 

Cullen still needed him.

Talia still needed him. 

And they needed each other, whether they could see it or not.

Dorian took another deep breath before he turned around.  He glanced back into the Inquisitor’s quarters, did a double-take, and sprinted inside. 

Cullen had forced himself up to sitting, though Dorian wasn’t sure how.  He was trying to get his feet on the floor, fumbling with the blankets wrapped around his waist.  One leg, clad in some light breeches Josephine had located in his quarters, was free and the Commander was using it to support his weight. 

Dorian caught him just as he tried to stand up and lost his balance.  He fell back onto the bed with a grunt.

“I love the effort, Commander, but I don’t believe you’re strong enough for that yet.” 

“I have to get up, Dorian,” Cullen gasped, his breathing fast and shallow.  “I have to go talk to her… apologize for what… what happened.” 

Dorian eased him back down even as Cullen struggled.  He’d lost so much weight, so much muscle, that he could barely fight back.  “Not right now you don’t, my friend.” 

“Yes, I do!” Cullen grabbed Dorian’s upper arms, surprising strength in his hands and anguish on his face.  “I have to!” 

“Please, Commander.” Dorian sat down again and helped Cullen lie down.  “She’ll be here to visit you before too long, I’m sure.” The mage wasn’t, in fact, sure, but he wasn’t willing to cause Cullen any more pain. 

Instead of arguing, Cullen rolled away, grabbing at the blankets as he moved.  Dorian watched him for a few moments before he tucked them closer around the Commander. 

“It will be all right,” Dorian said, patting his shoulders awkwardly. 

Cullen ignored him, and after a few quiet minutes, he stood to leave. 

As he got to the stairs, he heard Cullen shift. “I can’t hurt her again, Dorian,” he whispered. 

Dorian paused.  “Rest, Commander.  Give yourself time to heal, and she will too.” 

“What do I do then?”  His voice was muffled, choked up again like he was on the verge of another breakdown. 

“I…”  He wasn’t sure.  He had no idea, actually.  Apologize? Beg? Pretend it never happened? Run away? He couldn’t think of anything that would actually work yet.  “Just rest, Cullen.  Please.  Everything else will come eventually.”  He heard the Commander take a deep breath and shift again in the bed.  For a moment, he just watched, and waited. 

When Cullen finally spoke again, his voice was stronger.  “Who’s in charge?  Solas wouldn’t tell me.” 

Dorian forced back a laugh.  The change of subject was an obvious deflection, but of course the Commander would ask about his work.  “Cassandra,” he said, smiling at the tenacity of his dear friend.  “And she’s quite resentful, from what I understand.”

Cullen’s laugh was small but genuine.  “At least that’s not a total loss.” 

            “Sleep, Cullen.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”  Dorian padded down the stairs and closed the door quietly, hoping the Commander would actually rest.  He knew better, but he could hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (again) for the slow update. I think I'm finally back on track, and we're close to being done!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. The Days After

Four days after the Commander woke up, Solas called a meeting with the Inquisition's advisers.   Talia did not attend. 

            Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra did, however, and Solas was relieved to find that these three strong women had maintained their leadership abilities in light of Cullen's and the Inquisitor's absences.  Surely it was not an easy thing to do, but as far as he could tell, things were still running smoothly. 

            "The Inquisitor refuses to speak with me," he announced to begin the meeting.  "But I felt I should update those in charge as to the Commander's recovery." 

            "We are grateful for your efforts, Solas," Josephine said, dipping her quill in preparation for taking notes.  "And we could like to know how we can continue to help." 

            "And when the Commander will be returning to his duties," muttered Cassandra, crossing her arms.  Leliana said nothing, only waited. 

            The elf nodded.  "I would suggest he can return to light duty in perhaps a week.  I would caution against his undertaking training for another after that, given his current condition." 

            "And what condition is that?"  Leliana's voice sparked as she asked, and Solas turned cool grey eyes to her. 

            "He is still recovering," he answered.  He was opening his mouth to continue when the door to the War Room opened and  Dorian swept in. 

            "My apologies," he offered. "I was with the Commander." 

            "How is he, Dorian?"  Josephine asked earnestly, cutting off Leliana's ire. 

            "Recovering, my dear Ambassador." 

            "Can neither of you offer a straight answer?" demanded the Spymaster, and for a moment, the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. 

            Solas broke it.  "I realize that it is a grave inconvenience for the Commander to be sick," he began, frustration obvious in his voice.  "But his recovery is not something we can rush, nor is it something I can accurately explain." 

            Josephine put a hand on Leliana's shoulder as the sister glowered at the elf.  Solas, however, did not back down.  "We understand, Solas," she said gently.  "We are merely concerned about his health."  She gave Leliana a look.  "Please, tell us what you can." 

            Dorian and Solas exchanged looks before Dorian waved for Solas to begin.  "Very well," he began.  "Some elements of the Commander's recovery as going as expected.  He is still quite weak and cannot stand or walk without aid; however, he has been able to move around the room when assisted by someone, and he can move independently provided he keeps his balance with a piece of furniture.  Progress is being made, but considering that his left arm remains somewhat paralyzed, I do not suggest that he attempt this efforts without someone present." 

            Cassandra made a noise at this.  "His arm is paralyzed?" 

            Solas nodded.  "It was anticipated, Seeker.  In both dreams and the Fade, his left arm has been consistently injured.  This appears to be the manifestation of damaged caused by the stroke.  It is recovering, but slowly." 

            "Thank the Maker," Josephine intoned quietly, making a note on her writing board.  Leliana still said nothing. 

            "He is understandably frustrated by this slow progress," Dorian interjected.  "And he has been vocal about it.  I have also refused to help him put his armor back on, which bothers him to no end." 

            A small smile crossed Solas's face, gone before anyone but Leliana saw it.  "The Commander is struggling with his physical limitations, to be sure. In addition, he is pained by his weight loss during his illness, and I believe he would like to rectify that as soon as possible." 

            "I will send more pastries," Leliana murmured, which brought a laugh from Dorian. 

            "He will appreciate that, Sister," he laughed.  "I have been unable to keep him stocked with food now that the nausea of his first days has passed.  Though he is a picky eater.  I'd avoid anything too obviously Orlesian."  Leliana gave a genuine smile at this, and Josephine made another note.   

            "Are you pleased with this, Solas?" Cassandra asked. 

            The elf nodded once again.  "I am.  I have caught him staring intently at his ribs when he thinks I am not looking.  Some recovery of that flesh will likely help his mental state." 

            The smile melted off Leliana's face.  "And what assessment can you offer about that, Solas?" 

            Josephine outright elbowed her at this, and Leliana turned to stare at the Ambassador.  "Josie, I know you want to give him time.  But if he has lost too much to continue his duties after his physical recovery, we need to know.  No amount of weapons can make up for a mind that is barren of tactics." 

            "Leliana!" Cassandra stared at her, aghast. 

            The sister did not back down.  "I will not apologize for this assessment, Cassandra.  My words are true.  The Inquisition needs a Commander, and Maker knows you don't want to be it.  If Cullen will be unable to resume his position, we must make arrangements." 

            "We will arrange nothing until --"

            Josephine raised her voice before the two women could descend into an outright argument.  "We will abide by what his healer suggests.  Solas, if you please…?" 

            The elf's cool eyes moved between Cassandra and Leliana.  "Of course, Ambassador.  The Commander's memory is still recovering.  He remembers his time when trapped in the Fade, but anything from our rescue attempt to the time he awoke is blank.  I do know if that time will return to him." 

            "And his mind other than his memories?" Leliana gave him a cold look with her words and ignored everyone else. 

            "Hard to say," Solas said, and for the first time, the elf appeared uncomfortable.  "He can carry on a clear conversation, but may forget words or stop speaking in the midst of a sentence.  I… have not yet had enough real conversation with him to assess the progress of this." 

            "I can," Dorian piped up, but he too avoided Leliana's eyes.  "He is struggling, and thus far, progress is very slow.  He loses words but remembers them later, in the midst of other talk.  I've brought his requested books, only to have him ask why I brought them.  It is… disconcerting." 

            "I would caution," Solas added before Leliana could say anything. "That this is likely temporary.  Do not forget that he is also still malnourished.  I expect that some, if not all, of these mental attributes will return with time." 

            Cassandra too spoke up before Leliana could butt in.  "Dorian, how are his … other skills?" 

            Dorian's moustache twitched.  "Never fear, Cassandra, he can still trounce me at chess."  The Seeker visibly relaxed, and Leliana's eyes softened just a little.  "I have been reduced to artificially enhancing my game, like always." 

            "And does he catch you?"  Leliana asked quietly. 

            Dorian made a face. "Every time."  The Spymaster nodded and let her arms fall. 

            "That is the strongest endorsement the Commander could receive, I suspect," she said finally.  "I am satisfied, until I hear otherwise." 

            "As am I," Solas said.  "I shall continue to monitor him in the coming days." 

            Josephine stopped scribbling on her board and directed her next words to Dorian.  "How fares the Inquisitor?" 

            The mage's face fell.  "She is still struggling," he admitted.  "And I confess, my usual talents are doing little to lift her spirits.  In fact, she's been refusing to speak with me as well." 

            "And I," Cassandra added, "though I have been attempting to help her." 

            "I am not sure breaking her ribs counts, Seeker," Dorian muttered, and Josephine gave her a horrified look. 

            "She will… recover," Cassandra said with as much dignity as she could muster.  "I invited her to spar thinking it might give us the opportunity to talk.  I admit, I was… overzealous." 

            "That's an understatement." 

            "And what have you talked with her about, mage?" She snapped at him, and Dorian recoiled. 

            "You know very well that she refuses--"

            Leliana interrupted. "Have any of us actually spoken with her recently regarding the Commander's recovery?" 

            A chorus of "no" rang out.  They all exchanged concerned looks.  Leliana surveyed the faces in the room and crossed her arms again. 

            "Dorian," Solas finally said.  "I believe this is a task for you to handle." 

            He nodded.  "I agree, good ser, but I am not sure I can help." 

            "Try," Cassandra insisted. 

            "I won't break bones, if that's what you're suggesting," he muttered at her, and she had the grace to blush.

            "I'll send her some flowers," Josephine added, making another note on her clipboard. 

            "Perhaps you could include that we need her to go back out the Graves," Leliana said, and they glared at her once again.  "This is not new information," she said, lifting her chin.  "And the Inquisitor abandoned her original mission to see to Cullen.  If he is well again, she must go back out; there is much to be done, and the smugglers' trail will soon grow cold." 

            "Leliana, you cannot be serious--" Cassandra began, but the Spymaster cut her off. 

            "Of course I am, Cassandra.  No one else will make the difficult decisions, so I must do it.  But you know I am right.  The Commander is recovered, and the Inquisition has work to do.  It can no longer be put off." 

            One by one, the group members nodded their agreement, and Josephine sighed. 

            "I do hope she will see the Commander before she leaves," she murmured, making one last note on her board. 

            "As do we all," Dorian said quietly, and the meeting adjourned. 

\---

Talia avoided her quarters for days after Cullen woke up. 

            She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t face the pain on his face, the tears in his voice.  She wasn’t strong enough. 

            After Josephine caught her sleeping on her throne the first night, she moved her things into the War Room.  Dorian gracefully fetched all her reports and books from her quarters, and before long she had a semi-functional office.  For the first time since the Inquisition started, she actually read all the reports and letters sent to her.  Normally, she ignored most of them and let her advisors fill her in on what was most important; now, the thought of that process pained her, and she read so she could avoid talking to anyone else. 

            When the reports ran out, she caught up with every person she could find in Skyhold, including Vivienne and the kitchen staff.  She ran away from Solas and his updates, resorting to hiding in the Chantry when he was particularly tenacious.  Bull and Sera did their best to keep her entertained, but when their teasing inevitably turned to Cullen, the awkward silence that ensued was enough to send Talia reeling, and before long, she was avoiding the tavern too. 

            The Seeker was growing antsy in her position now that the Commander was awake and recovering, and she soon dragged Talia out into the yard for sparring to give them something to do.  The first morning it happened, Talia was so distracted that the Seeker broke two of her ribs with a shield bash, and she burst into tears, so grateful for the physical pain to distract her from what was happening inside her heart.  She knew it scared Cassandra, because the warrior refused to use the move again, but she kept right on sparring with her in the following days.  More importantly, the Seeker seemed to understand that talking couldn't help whatever she was experiencing.  So as they sparred, she never asked questions or pestered Talia about what was going on, and for that she was grateful too. 

            Dorian visited the Commander often; as far as anyone could tell, he was the only one Cullen would really speak to, and Solas insisted that he talk to _someone_.  There was much he wouldn't reveal to Talia, but nonetheless he updated her constantly on Cullen's condition.  She soon knew that Solas and Dorian had been able to get Cullen up and moving, and that despite his near-constant exhaustion, he was improving.  He had not yet made it to the Great Hall, Dorian reported, and frankly Talia was glad for that.  She wasn't sure if she could handle watching him struggle, or rely on someone else, for the most basic of tasks.  A small part of her asked if perhaps that was exactly what she needed to do to destroy her crush once and for all, but she pushed that thought away.  Too much of her still wanted something to be there, some spark that perhaps could be kindled in time.  So when Dorian described how Cullen was finally able to eat regularly, overcoming the nausea and pain that had so bothered him after his first days awake, Talia listened, and hoped. 

            There was, however, no hiding the pain on her face during these conversations. Dorian knew she would fare far worse with no information at all, but he noticed that she refused to share any information about her own emotions, instead dodging his questions or avoiding him entirely.  And as the days went on, Talia withdrew further from the halls of Skyhold. 

            Instead of speaking with her friends, or working in the War Room, she started free-climbing the battlements and roaming the basements.  She haunted the dungeons, empty as they were, and spent hours staring out over the mountains from the roofs of the guard towers.  Skyhold was enormous, and there was a near-endless list of places for her to explore, but none of them took her even close to where she wanted to be. 

            She wanted to go visit Cullen. 

            This realization struck her as she was sitting atop the tower that Cullen had often used as a refuge from his responsibilities.  Around her, the sun was setting over the Frostbacks, and she watched, her knees clasped to her chest. 

            She wanted to go visit Cullen. 

            There was no more denying this desire; it had been almost a week, and everything screamed for her to run and not stop until she was in her quarters, with him.  But she couldn't, not when she didn't know how he'd react. 

            Her head fell forward to her knees, and she exhaled shakily.  She couldn't take being thrown out again, as much as Dorian assured her that wasn't going to happen.  Yet she wasn't willing to give up on whatever had been between her and Cullen.  _Something_ was there, something she could feel like an ember burning in her chest, and she couldn't let it go. 

            She didn't want to let it go. 

            Talia sighed again.  So many moments in the past weeks hinted at Cullen's feelings toward her: the thoughts Cole had caught as he was passing out, the recognition in his face in the Fade, the tight grip of his hands in the first moments after he woke up.  Others fairly shouted at her, like the desire demon's form in the Fade.  But after the way he'd collapsed under the weight of that illusion, she could not presume anything. 

            Her heart ached at the thought.  His fear had been so overwhelming in that moment, visible in every tense muscle of his shoulders, every grasp of his hands.  Though she had some reassurance now that he understood what had happened, she didn't want to be the cause of that kind of pain again. 

            The sun had fully set now, the indigo of twilight casting long shadows over Skyhold.  Beside her sat a small bouquet of crystal grace from Josephine, with a note from Leliana attached -- she was being sent back to the Graves in two days to finish the mission they'd started before Cullen collapsed. 

            In two days, she was leaving again, and Maker only knew how long she would be gone. 

            Maybe there was a way to see him before she left, a way to reemerge into his life that wouldn't cause such upset.  After all, any visit would by necessity be quick; she had to prepare for the trip to the Graves, and she'd been neglecting any work that even hinted at leaving Skyhold.  She wasn't ready, but she didn't have a choice. 

            The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a quick visit might be a good idea. Perhaps she could bring him a gift -- a book, or those shortbread cookies he liked -- and distract him from what had happened. 

            The more she thought about it, the more she knew that wasn't likely.  But still…  

            Maybe she could sneak in while he was napping: leave him a note with a gift, something small to help heal their relationship without the pressure of an actual conversation.  Then she'd be gone, and Cullen could go on recovering in her absence, and perhaps when she returned, they could figure things out.   

            Talia smiled for the first time in days.  It was perfect. 

            Purpose renewed and plan in place, she threw herself down the ladder to get started.  


	13. A Visit to Her Quarters

Talia tiptoed up the stairs into her quarters.  She was starting to think of them as Cullen's quarters now, six days after he'd woken up; her own bed in the back corner of the War Room felt more comfortable and safe than her chambers.  Eventually, she reasoned, Cullen would recover enough that he would move back to his tower, but that would probably happen while she was away in the Emerald Graves. 

            They were leaving in the morning, Talia, Dorian, Varric, and Iron Bull.  Cassandra was needed in Skyhold until Cullen resumed his duties, and Solas was insistent that he stay to monitor Cullen's progress, lest the Commander push himself too far, too fast, and relapse.  Talia had spent the previous day agonizing over what she should bring up to Cullen, what she should write to him to sooth things between them.  She had finally settled on an informal note that just said she hoped he was feeling better soon and offering her support should the Commander desire it.  There was so much else she wanted to say, but that would have to wait until she returned from her mission.  By then, at least, Cullen would be up and around, and whatever conversations they needed to have to recover, be they positive or heartbreaking, could take place then. 

            Though she hoped things would be good between them again, she didn't want to push it.  And should things spiral, the note would still seem Inquisitor-like and thus appropriate. 

            She'd run into Dorian on her way to the kitchens, but he had only winked at her and offered her a kiss on the cheek.   He said he thought her idea was a sound one, but he didn't press her for details other than what food she was bringing upstairs. 

            "The Commander has had enough shortbread in the past few days to fell a horse.  Or one of those disgusting nug-beasts you brought back from Val Royeaux," he said, wrinkling his nose.  "Perhaps he'd enjoy a change of pace?" 

            So now she was carrying a tray filled with her own favorite cookies, chocolate cranberry with just a touch of cinnamon.  They were absolutely delicious, and she found herself hoping that Cullen would agree. 

            At the last moment, she'd also grabbed a book to bring him, a new one about the last Inquisition and its military work with Emperor Drakon prior to the forming of the Templar Order.  Some of the sourcing was a bit questionable, but for now, it was all the information they had about the last Inquisition.  Leliana had informed her that there were some academics interested in studying the last Inquisition more closely, and Talia had no doubt that she would be involved in that search when the time came.  And when that time came, she wanted Cullen's military opinion on what had happened before.  Plus, she had admitted to herself as she'd tucked the book onto the tray with the cookies, she'd read it already and thought Cullen would genuinely like it.  And then they could discuss it, and before long…

            She had cut off those thoughts before they got out of control.  She was the Inquisitor leaving a get-well gift for her Commander, and an Inquisition-relevant book was the perfect choice.  No more, no less. 

            As she nudged open the door from the staircase to her quarters, the mid-afternoon bells chimed.  Perfect.  Solas had said that Cullen was usually long asleep by this time, and he often slept through until the dinner bell.  With a little luck, that would hold true today, and Talia would be in and out, present left behind, with Cullen never the wiser. 

            There was only one small problem with this plan: The Commander was awake.   

            "Cullen!"  His name fairly burst out of her mouth as she crested the stairs.  He was sitting up in bed, his back to her, and his head whipped around at the sound of her voice.

            "Talia?"  They stared at each other for a long moment, neither moving.  Talia could see her surprise mirrored on Cullen's face, the touch of worry in the line between his eyebrows.  The tray in her arms felt heavy, ungainly, and she smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to say. 

            "I… brought you a book… and some cookies…"  she offered lamely when neither spoke. 

            "I've eaten a lot of those in the past days," he said, and her heart sank. 

            "Oh," she said quietly, dropping her gaze to study the tray's contents.  "Well, I'll just…"  She trailed off, looking around for a place to leave the tray.  Maybe if she put it on her desk, she could sneak the note off it before Cullen saw, appropriate content or otherwise. 

            "No, I didn't mean… Maker's breath," he muttered.  He tried to move his arm to rub at his neck and made a pained noise. 

            Talia looked up at the sound and saw the grimace on his face.  She took in the frustration when his muscles wouldn't obey his command, the blush she knew meant he'd embarrassed himself somehow, and then something clicked.  Cullen was _awake_. 

            "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"  The accusation was out before she could give it a second thought, and Cullen's eyes met hers. 

            "I am," he said, a defensive note in his voice. 

            She cocked her head, gesturing to his position with her chin.  "This doesn't look like it." 

            "I swear, I --"  He tried to push himself up to standing then, as if in denial of her words, and groaned when he couldn't quite make it.  Talia dumped her tray unceremoniously on the couch near the bed, her caretaker instincts taking over, and sat next to him. 

            "You're going to hurt yourself," she said quietly, not looking at him.  He sighed. 

            "I'm sick of being trapped in bed," he admitted, and Talia smiled.  That was just like him.  They sat in silence for a few minutes, Cullen still sitting up but swaying gently, until another thought occurred to Talia. 

            "I came up now because Solas said you'd be asleep.  I was--"  _trying to avoid talking to you_ , she almost said and caught herself just in time.    

            If Cullen caught the abrupt cut-off of her words, he didn't say anything.  "I, um… yes, that's what I told Solas," he replied. 

            "But you haven't been sleeping." 

            "No."  There was silence again, thick and heavy between them. 

            "Why not?"  Talia asked, though she knew the answer.  Cullen did not respond, only tightened his grip on the mattress beside him and tried to stand up again. 

            He wavered a little as he gained his feet, and Talia found herself reaching out to press her hand against his back before he could fall. 

            "Thank you," he murmured, not quite looking at her, and she stood up beside him. 

            "You should probably rest," she insisted quietly, but Cullen's eyes stayed focused on the far side of the room. 

            "I cannot," he said simply.  "I've been trapped here for far too long.  Solas won't let me leave this room, Cassandra won't send me reports of my troops, Dorian just laughed when I asked for my armor…  I am trapped here, and I cannot stand it."  With that, he took a hesitant step forward, and another, and another before his knees gave out.  Talia ducked under his arm, tucking herself against his side, and caught him before he could fall, again. 

            She eased him back to the bed with a grunt.  "Okay, I lied before when I said you weren't heavy," she muttered, and felt Cullen stiffen beside her at the mention of his first day awake. 

            "I wanted to apologize for that day," he said softly.  He clenched his hands in his lap.  "I was… that is, the dream… and Solas explained…"  He sighed heavily and glanced over at her.  "This sounded much better in my head." 

            Talia smiled, and for the first time in days, it reached all the way to her eyes.  "It's okay," she told him. "I understand." 

            He relaxed beside her, his weight coming to rest more heavily against her.  "Thank you." 

            "I, uh, hope you don't mind that I visited," Talia said quickly, before another awkward silence could fall between them.  "I know you said you've had a lot of cookies, but I thought…" 

            "I didn't mean--"

            "… you might enjoy something different."  Now it was her turn to glance shyly at him, only to find his amber eyes had never left her face. 

            "I would like that," he said softly, and Talia drew a ragged breath at the tenderness in his voice.  For a split second, she thought he was going to lean in toward her, and with a sudden rush of fear, she leapt up before it could happen.

            "Here, then," she squeaked, going to the tray.  She wrapped one of the chocolate cranberry cookies in a napkin and carried it back to him.  Their shoulders brushed as she sat down again, and neither moved away. 

            Cullen took the proffered cookie gently, his fingertips brushing hers, and Talia tried not to blush.  "They're my favorite," she supplied as he took a small bite.  His eyes lit up as he chewed. 

            "Cranberry and cinnamon!"  He put the rest of the cookie in his mouth, and his eyes drifted closed.  Talia watched the bliss on his face intently, and she couldn't help her own nervous smile.  "My mother used to make something like these when I was a child," he finally explained.  "They were a Satinalia treat because we couldn't get cinnamon very often."  His eyes glossed over, far away with the memory, and his fingers brushed hers where they rested on her leg.

            "I'm glad you like them," she said softly and squeezed his fingers once before letting go.  He nodded his thanks, and they drifted into silence again, more companionable this time.  

            Eventually Cullen shifted, his shoulders moving away but the warm length of his thigh pressing against hers, hip to knee. 

            "Will you, uh, do something for me, Inquisit-- Talia?"

            She looked at him.  "Of course." 

            He planted one hand on each knee and pushed himself to his feet again.  "Walk with me?  Solas is afraid I will overexert myself, but I fear I've already atrophied too much and would heal better if I were active."  The stammer was gone from his voice now that he could focus on his recovery, Talia noted. 

            "Of course," she repeated, standing herself and offering an arm.  Cullen placed one hand on her gently, for balance, and they started a slow walk toward the bookshelf. 

            "It will be good to see you about again," she said quietly as they moved.  "People have missed you around Skyhold." 

            Cullen glanced at her, the beginning of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.  "…Anyone in particular?" 

            Talia's heart leapt in her chest before she quelled it.  "The… soldiers, most of all.  They miss their Commander."  She lingered on these words, hoping he could hear her own longing hidden there. 

            "I see," he replied.  "I… have missed them, too."  They reached the desk, and Cullen paused for a moment, balancing himself on careful fingers against the wood.  With a few deep breaths, he looked up and smiled broadly at her.  "Perhaps with some aid, I will… be up again, soon, and can… visit… them, again." 

            "I believe they would like that."  She was so sure they were talking about each other, so sure they were okay, and it made her bold.  "Your arm was paining you earlier.  Let me."  She eased his left hand off her arm and instead draped it over her shoulders.  Her own arm she tucked around his waist and used her body to support his. 

            For a second, he tensed, and Talia froze, thinking she had overstepped.  Despite his apology, they had yet to discuss what had happened to him, and she knew there was every chance that he wanted nothing to do with her beyond basic niceties.  Everything else could easily be her overeager imagination.

            Then he relaxed into her touch, his arm tightened around her shoulders, and she breathed just a little easier.  Stable now, they continued their walk. 

            "How are things outside this room?"  Cullen asked as they crossed in front of the fireplace. 

            "Better now that you're awake," Talia said without thinking, and he blushed.

            "I meant--" 

            "I know what you meant," she interrupted him. "And I meant what I said." 

            He stopped walking, using his arm to tug her to face him.  "Talia, I…"  He opened his mouth several times to speak, each time stopping and thinking better of it, until Talia touched his chest gently. 

            "Let's keep walking, Cullen."  She tried to ignore the tiny shiver than went through him when she said his name.  "How many laps do you usually get through when you're supposed to be napping?" 

            "Maybe one," he admitted, but let her lead him again. 

            When they circled back close to the bed again, Cullen tugged at her arm.  "Can we keep going?  Having you… someone, here to support me is helping." 

            Talia just nodded.  After another silence, Cullen spoke again.  "You won't tell anyone this is what I'm doing when I'm supposed to be resting, will you?"

            She fought the urge to say something smart back.  "Never." 

            He squeezed her against his side for a split second.  "Thank you," he said, and she knew it was for more than just the help. 

            They walked another loop around the room in a slow, comfortable silence before Cullen spoke again.  "How are my soldiers under Cassandra's direction?" 

            "Other than missing you?" Talia offered, and he chuckled. 

            "Yes, other than that.  Cassandra refuses to send me my reports." 

            "As well she shouldn't," Talia told him. 

            He gave her a distraught look.  "You agree?"  The incredulity in his voice was near-palpable. 

            Talia shrugged under his arm.  "You run yourself ragged with the Inquisition's military.  Surely another few days won't destroy anything." 

            "With Cassandra in charge it might," he snorted, and Talia suppressed a laugh.  "Dorian also refuses to bring me my armor." 

            "You mentioned that, as did he," Talia replied.  They were moving faster now, walking at close to a normal pace in circles around the room.  She wasn't sure if it was just Cullen warming up or her own support that was creating such positive strides, but she choose to accept the credit. 

            He glanced sideways at her, obviously curious.  "Dorian has been telling you about our conversations?" 

            "Not really," she assured him as they approached the staircase.  "Mostly he just reports that you spend an awful lot of time complaining when you should be convalescing." 

            "Do I now," Cullen grumbled, and made a face.  "Would you be willing to help me down the stairs?" 

            "To go argue with Dorian? No," she joked, and Cullen smirked. 

            "I've just never tried them yet," he admitted.  "Solas won't let me, but I feel ready." 

            Talia nodded.  "Just once, then."  She trusted him, and if he felt ready, then she'd be there to help him.  More than anything, she just didn't want to lose this moment, and if that meant they ventured down the stairs, then down the stairs they'd go. 

            Admittedly, there was more stumbling and cursing than she'd expected as they worked their way to the door into her quarters, and Cullen was breathing harder than he should have been.  At the bottom, he leaned against the cool stone to rest. 

            "I'm sorry," he huffed while he caught his breath.  "I thought I… the stairs…" 

            "We'll give it a minute before we go back up," she replied, disengaging her arm from around his waist.  She made to step away, but Cullen caught her hand in his. 

            "Please," he said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him. 

            "Please what," she asked, her eyes rising to meet his.  Her heart pounded in her chest, so loud she was he could hear it.  

            "I…"  He didn't finish his thought, only pushed off the stone to stand in front of her.  For a moment, he loomed over her, and Talia tilted her chin to maintain their eye contact.  "I…"  A weight seemed to drop onto his shoulders then, and he gave himself a small shake. 

            "Yes?"  She prompted, but he only turned back to the stairs. 

            "I think I'm ready to sit down again," he said, not looking at her, and he rubbed his neck with his free hand.  Talia nodded, dropping his other hand, and tucked herself back against him with a small sigh.  Something was still sparking between them, and once again, she tried not to hope too hard. 

            Cullen struggled far more going up the stairs than going down.  They took a break every few stairs, his muscles tight with effort, and Talia was thankful he didn't fall -- she didn't think she could get him back up if he did.  They did not speak as they walked this time, moving again in slow, awkward silence until they reached the bed.  Cullen sank down on it immediately, and Talia could feel him shaking as she sat beside him. 

            "Cullen?"  She asked quietly, and he started at the sound of his name.  "Are you going to be all right?"  There was more to her question than just this moment. 

            "I… will be," he said, and some of the shaking subsided.  Something lifted out of the silence between them then, and Talia, bold once more, leaned her head on his shoulder.  One of Cullen's hands dropped to rest on her knee after a moment, and she smiled against him. 

            "I…"  he began but trailed off.  "My behavior toward you was unworthy, Inquisitor," he said finally, and Talia couldn't help the way her body tensed at her title.  _Have we come all this way, through so much, only to fall back onto titles?_  Fear roiled up through her, and she made to scoot away from him. 

            "No, no," he said quickly, catching her hand with the one that had been on her leg.  "I don't mean… Talia, please…"  Her green eyes rose to meet his, and she was surprised to find tears in them.  "I am lucky to be alive, to have this chance… I wanted… You deserve…" 

            "Cullen," she whispered.

            "I wanted to come back to you," he breathed, and his amber eyes slid closed.  His other hand came up slowly to brush her cheek.  She moved into his touch, conscious that it was his bad arm, and he leaned into her suddenly, quickly, catching her mouth with his. 

            His lips were dry but soft against hers, the kiss swift and over before she could begin to enjoy it. 

            "I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling back.  "That was…" 

            Talia didn't let him finish, instead fitting her lips against his.  He made a small noise and she melted into him, arms coming up to wrap around his back and shoulders.  His left hand gained strength, wrapped around the back of her head to pull her tight against his chest as he kissed her back. 

            This kiss seemed to release all the pent-up emotion from their months of careful flirting and all the uncertainties that had come and gone while he'd been sick.  All the fear that Talia had been hanging on to, all the questions she couldn't answer, dissipated as the warmth of his lips seeped into hers, and everything else fell away.  Some depth of passion she didn't know she possessed ignited when his mouth opened against hers, their breath intermingling as they clung to each other. 

            Then, too soon, it was over, and Cullen leaned his forehead against hers, breathing hard. 

            "I'm sorry," he said again, his eyes closed.  "I…"  He hesitated, and Talia resisted the urge to pull away.  _No one kisses like_ that _if they aren't interested_ , she reasoned, but she opened her eyes anyway, preparing herself for the fallout. 

            It didn't come.  Instead, she found Cullen's warm brown eyes looking back at her, his pupils blown wide and the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile.  They brightened further when her eyes met his, and he leaned in once more, his breath ghosting across her lips. 

            "I should have done that weeks ago," he whispered against her skin, and he kissed her again. 

            When they finally pulled away, breathing hard and still clinging to one another, Cullen leaned back, keeping Talia's hands in his.  He kept his eyes closed and breathed deeply through his nose, trying to catch his breath. 

            Talia held his hands, and waited.  She still didn't want to rush things, didn't want to push him, but her pulse was flying, her thoughts racing with a thousand possibilities, and all of them depended on Cullen. 

            The man in question opened his eyes then, a smile breaking across his features when he saw her studying him. 

            "Talia," he whispered, and she leaned in to rest her forehead against his.  

            "I am so glad you came back to me," she breathed before smirking.  "That dream-kiss was nothing like the reality." 

            His face clouded over for a moment.  "Dream?" 

            "That's how I knew you were sick," she said, realizing as she said it that Solas might not have filled in that particular gap.  "Cole caught your thoughts as you collapsed, and they were… illuminating." 

            Cullen blushed up to his ears.  "And he sent you those thoughts… in a dream?"  She nodded against him and leaned in again, slowly, to give him time to pull away if he wanted.  He did not. 

            "All my imaginings could never compare," she whispered, and she kissed him gently. 

            When they broke apart, he dropped her hands to pull her onto his lap, his arms wrapped around her and holding her close.

            "Neither did mine," he sighed.  He buried his face against the crook of her neck.  "I was so afraid when I remembered the Fade, Talia," he whispered then, his breath warm against her skin.   "I didn't want you to… think less of me, or to think that… _that_ was what I expected from you, somehow.  I didn't know what you thought, what you wanted…" 

            She could feel the wet beginnings of tears against her neck, and hugged Cullen tighter against her.  "I'm here, now," she whispered into his hair, her fingers playing with the curls at the base of his neck.  "And the Fade…"  She shook her head gently, knowing he could feel the movement.  "Whatever we have, it's here, it's real.  That's what matters." 

            He nodded against her then, the movement stuttered and shaky but present.  "I believe you," he said softly, his voice more sure than before. 

            They stayed in each other's arms for a long time, fingers rubbing small circles into shoulders and backs, hands running through curls, lips brushing tiny kisses against skin.  Before long, however, Cullen's exhaustion took over, and Talia could feel his body growing heavier against hers. 

            "Cullen?"  She asked softly, pulling back from him. 

            "Hm?"  He moved back and met her eyes, but it took a long moment for his to focus. 

            "You need sleep," she said, sliding off his lap and standing up.  He tried to shake his head, but an enormous yawn erupted and he blushed as he fought it off. 

            "I'm fine," he insisted, but she ran her fingers across his temple and cheek and he leaned sleepily into her touch. 

            "Nope," she said, a teasing note in her voice.  "Time to rest."  He protested even as he moved back in the bed, and Talia pulled the blankets over him. 

            "Sleep tight, my Commander," she said as he relaxed against the pillows.  "I'll be back when you wake up."  She bent, hesitated for just a moment as his eyes followed her, and then kissed his forehead.  A small smile broke over his face, and he caught her wrist as she moved away. 

            "Talia?"  His voice was low, his hesitation obvious in the tremor of her name.  "Will you stay?" 

            She pulled back, unsure.  "I'm… not sure that's the best idea.  You need rest, and I don't think…" 

            Cullen blushed.  "I didn't mean that," he said quickly, and Talia blushed too.    

            "No, I know that, I just…" She said quickly, laughing to cover up her embarrassment.  

            "Please?"  The pleading note in his voice gave her pause, her heart soaring as she considered his request.  "Please," he repeated, and his amber eyes searched hers.  "I was alone, in the Fade, and never knew it.  I don't… want to be alone now, not when I could be with you."

            She studied him for a moment.  "All right," she murmured eventually.  Walking around the bed, she grabbed a blanket from beside the tray full of cookies abandoned on the couch. Then she sat and quickly shed her boots before climbing on top of the heavy comforter.  She wiggled closer to him, adjusting the blanket over her legs as she went, and from under the comforter Cullen shifted so he could face her. 

            He smiled at her, and one hand slipped out from under the covers.  "Thank you," he said, reaching for her, and she intertwined their fingers without hesitation, smiling back at him when he squeezed her hand. 

            His eyes drifted shut, and Talia could hear his breathing deepen as he slipped toward sleep.  She studied his face, the twitch of his nose as he started to fall asleep, the gradual slackening of the lines of his face.  This time, his rest didn't seem troubled like it had when he was trapped in the Fade; instead, for the first time she'd seen, he looked peaceful. 

            "Talia?" he whispered suddenly, and she looked up from her staring to find his warm brown eyes open. 

            "Yes?"  She answered, blushing a little at being caught. 

            Cullen didn't seem to notice.  "Be here when I wake up?" he asked, his eyes searching her face.  "Please?"

            Talia dropped her lips to his fingers and brushed a kiss across them.  "Always," she said softly, and his smile relaxed gently as he drifted off.  Even after his breathing steadied with sleep, she lay awake, thanking the Maker that he'd seen fit to return her Commander to her until finally she too fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! :) 
> 
> There will be a short epilogue, probably next Friday, to finish this up. 
> 
> Never fear! Talia and Cullen's one-shot adventures will continue as well. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	14. Epilogue: On the Battlements

Cullen stood on the battlements, his face warmed by the rising sun.  All the reports said that Talia would be back today, and he'd been unable to sleep, consumed with thoughts of her.

            It had been almost five weeks since the day they'd kissed.  Five weeks since they'd said good-bye at the top of the stairs from her quarters.  Five weeks since she'd started down the stairs, hesitated, and sprinted back.  She'd touched his face tenderly, a slight tremble in her hand, before pushing to her tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his lips.  Five weeks since he'd groaned, wrapped his arm around her (his left still too weak to move much) and held her tight against him, kissing her back with everything he had.  Five weeks since he'd felt her fingers thread through his hair, her body warm against his, and five weeks since he'd had to release her and actually say good-bye. 

            His illness had progressed well in those same five weeks, and he was far more his old self than he had been when he'd last seen Talia.  Though he had spent several more days confined to bed, soon Cullen had been allowed to get up and move around more freely.  When finally, two weeks after he'd woken, he had made it down to the Great Hall under his own power, Dorian and Iron Bull had whipped his soldiers into a frenzy, all cheering and hollering to celebrate the recovery of their Commander. 

            Privately he wondered if perhaps his men were merely sick of Cassandra training them, but he kept that thought to himself. 

            His days had gradually taken on more and more of his old routines after that.  At first he was only allowed to oversee morning drills, offering advice and criticism, but before long Solas had given permission for Cullen to sort through his reports and demonstrate forms for his soldiers.  Cassandra had taken over then, building a sparring and drill routine that worked him to exhaustion but built his endurance back to before he'd fallen ill.  His left arm was slowest to recover -- he was able to swing his blade with his old skill long before he could successfully heft a shield.  When it continued to be stiff and slow to heal, he asked Solas to take a look.  The mage had explained that this was common after a blood clot, but the muscles seemed to be recovering, albeit slowly.  He encouraged Cullen to focus some of his renewed training on his shield arm, including daily massages, and soon he found that that too was making progress. 

            When he was finally strong enough to climb his ladder again, he found his armor clean and polished, a little note from Dorian teasing that the armor too had missed its Commander. 

            Solas agreed that he should take up his daily runs once again, though he insisted that Cassandra accompany the Commander to ensure his safety.  Cullen found this frustrating at first, this chaperoning of a grown man, but as his endurance improved and he no longer huffed so obviously, he and Cassandra took the opportunity away from prying eyes to assess his condition. 

            Cullen's most pressing fear had been that his illness meant the attempt to break his lyrium leash was about to end in failure.  Cassandra, however, disagreed, and she was not quiet about it.  A week into their runs, Cullen had quietly asked if she thought he needed to go back on lyrium, if he had failed the Inquisition and needed to step aside.  He knew the Seeker could hear the trembling in his voice as he'd asked, and he tried to reassure her that, despite his own confidence in his recovery, he would defer to her judgment.  She had interrupted him before he could get the words out. 

            "Cullen," she had said, wiping sweat from her brow as they jogged toward the valley just below Skyhold.  "Your illness had been hard on the Inquisition, I will not deny that.  But you need not worry.  The lyrium is almost gone from your system, and I cannot imagine a better leader for our army than you." 

            Her assurances had redoubled his efforts to build himself back to up his abilities prior to his collapse.  Cullen's appetite stayed strong, the nausea that had once made eating a chore vanishing with his recovery.  He had gained weight steadily as well;  even though he tried to ration them, he found himself eating every last one of the cookies Talia had brought him within a few days.  He knew he wasn't as strong as he had once been, his muscles still under-performing on tasks like sparring.  But Solas was happy with the flesh he'd recovered, and Josephine was back to shamelessly eyeing him when he worked in the yard with his recruits, so he couldn't complain too much.

            Even if his armor exhausted him by the end of most days, he was still making progress. 

            His mental health was far better than anyone, including Dorian, had believed possible -- and Dorian had spent days hovering after Talia left, fearful of another flashback that would send Cullen into a spiral.  But that hadn't happened, at least not yet.  Oddly enough, his new Fade experiences had made his nightmares a little less intense; he still struggled with them, and on one occasion before he'd left the Inquisitor's chambers, he'd woken abruptly to find Solas standing over him, concern on his face and healing spells ready in his hands.  The calming aura had helped, though Cullen was hesitant to request the mage's continued help.   But as the weeks went on, fewer of his nightmares featured Kinloch Hold and more featured a relatively mundane house with several small children, and that was far easier to deal with.  On those nights when violence erupted through that illusion, he could only assume he was seeing the fight when Talia and the others tried to rescue him, and he was grateful he could not remember those nights in more detail.

            The improved sleep helped his recovery too, and even when he woke sore, he felt rested.  It was unusual, to wake feeling as though he had actually slept, but Cullen soon found that he liked it. 

            Somewhere around the third week Talia had been gone, Cullen had woken early, worked through drills with his soldiers and a run with Cassandra, enjoyed lunch and chess with Dorian, and then walked to his office mid-afternoon to find a startling small stack of reports awaiting him.  He'd dutifully worked through them, making sure he left nothing undone, and yet still found himself with hours to spare.  Once, his work had kept him awake long into the night, only succumbing to sleep when exhaustion overtook dedication -- yet that pile of reports hadn't manifested as he recovered. 

            It didn't take long to figure out that Leliana and Josephine were modifying his duties, making sure that only the most essential work reached his desk.  They discussed more military matters in their Council meetings, leaving less for Cullen to do on his own, and he found too that Cassandra had gotten Rylen used to far more delegation than Cullen himself had ever utilized. 

            And yet when he'd reflected on his recovery, Cullen found that he had little trouble with accepting others' help.  It likely wouldn't last forever, he knew, and he appreciated the time he could instead devote to getting his health under control.  If in a few weeks his reports suddenly picked up, he would be ready; there was far less risk of him collapsing again now that he'd been able to take care of himself. 

            Standing now on the battlements, Cullen ran the report of the Inquisitor's impending arrival again through his mind.  Her return was the first piece of news from the Graves that Leliana had sent him; everything else, including the details about both Talia and the lyrium smugglers she was tracking, had been kept from him.   It had made the past weeks both frustrating and liberating: he hadn't worried about the mission like he might have if he'd known the details, and yet he had so many unanswered questions about Talia since their kiss that the silence was starting to make him frantic with anxiety. 

            More sleep meant he had more mental energy to deal with trauma, and he'd spend time walking through the illusion in the Fade as he felt more secure in the reality around him.  It wasn't a difficult illusion to understand: the desire for a peaceful life, a family, was one he'd often pushed away in lieu of the life he had.  He tried not to dwell on the change; if anything, it made the nightmares easier since he wasn't reliving the torture of his past anymore. 

            What was more concerning to him was Talia's reaction.  She'd seen it, seen into that corner of his mind where he could hold that fantasy close, and he was desperately afraid of what she might think. 

            His hand rose to the back of his neck as once again a litany of questions ran through his thoughts.  What did Talia think of him?  Was she scared of what she'd seen in the Fade?  What did she want? A relationship or something casual?  Maybe she regretted their kiss, maybe she just didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  Was that why he hadn't heard from her? 

            He scrubbed his hands through his hair and down over his face.  The sun was fully risen now, the valley below Skyhold painted a warm golden-pink with its light.  Cullen leaned against the battlements, his hands clenching on the stone, and stared down at the bridge leading into Skyhold's courtyard, willing the Inquisitor's banner to come flying through. 

            It did not. 

            Maybe he had pushed things too far, too fast, the day he'd kissed her.  It was possible she thought he kissed her because he felt guilty over what he'd said when he first woke up and wanted to make it up to her, although how that worked wasn't clear to Cullen.   But they hadn't talked about their kisses, nor the Fade, nor anything really when she'd left for the Graves.  And she hadn't written to him, not once. 

            He sighed and pushed back from the battlements, pacing back and forth as he waited.  The report said she was due back today, likely in the early morning.  Well, that early morning was fast-waning, and no Inquisitor.  A frustrated noise left his lips.  He wanted to see her.  He needed to know the answers to so many of his questions, needed to know if she still wanted him, still cared about him.  He wanted to know that she was safe, there beside him as he hoped she would be. 

            And if he were honest with himself, he desperately wanted to kiss her again. 

            There were so many risks, and Cullen was excellent at overthinking things like this.  He knew that about himself.  But he also knew that all his feelings before he'd gotten sick -- all the flirting, the smiles, and all those times he couldn’t keep his eyes off her -- everything had been real, and once, it had been what he wanted.

            He was quite certain he still wanted it, and he only needed Talia to come back now so he could find if she wanted that, too. 

            He made another frustrated noise, his hands clenching at his sides, when a horn trilled from the bridge below him, and he lunged for the wall.  There, just entering the far portcullis, was the Inquisitor's party, casting long shadows along the stone as they rode in. 

            They were back.  _She_ was back. 

            Cullen felt an enormous smile spread across his face, and before he'd even realized it, he had raised one arm in greeting.  Below, he watched Blackwall elbow Talia and gesture toward him; she glanced up immediately and waved back, a matching smile on her face. 

            Some of the tension in his shoulders relaxed.  Surely a woman who regretted a kiss wouldn't look so happy to see him waiting for her. 

He resisted the urge to rush to her.  The trip back into Skyhold was time-consuming:  her party would need time to stable their mounts, unload their saddlebags, and likely debrief with Leliana before they'd have a chance to breathe.  If they'd done something dangerous, like kill a dragon, Bull would accost them and drag them off to the tavern, mid-morning or not, and since Cullen hadn't seen one report on the Inquisitor's actions in the Graves, he figured that was entirely possible.  Then Talia would probably want to bathe before calling a War Council meeting.  At some point she'd want to catch up with Dorian and likely Cassandra, and surely she'd need to eat lunch too. 

            The chances of him seeing her privately anytime soon were dwindling before his eyes. 

            He could feel his muscles tightening up again and sighed.  She was home, and safe, and she'd waved to him.  Right now, he couldn't ask for anything else. 

            He stayed on the battlements anyway.  The trek back to his office, while short, was daunting -- going back to his office meant putting on his armor, and putting on his armor meant stepping back into the role of Commander.  He wasn't ready to do that yet this morning.  Bull would be down in the yard to start morning drills soon, and while Cullen should supervise, he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate.  Not with Talia so close, and so many questions awaiting answers. 

            A last sigh huffed out of his chest as he turned from the ledge, his hand rubbing over the back of his neck.  He studied the stone as he headed back toward his tower, never hearing the pounding footsteps until the Inquisitor burst up the stairs in front of him. 

            "Cullen!"  He looked up, frozen.  She shed her long rogue's coat as she came towards him, her smile flashing, and he held his breath, waiting to see what she'd do. 

            Then she launched herself at him, her arms around his shoulders and his face buried in her hair before he had time to think.   She hauled herself up against him, and he felt the cold tip of her nose press into his neck.  He leaned his head against hers, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, and he thanked the Maker for whatever he'd done to deserve this warm feeling in his chest. 

            Talia clung to him for longer than he expected.  When she finally pulled away, she wiped quickly at her eyes, and he reached to catch one of her hands in his. 

            "Inquisitor," he began, and caught himself.  "Talia. Are you all right?" 

            She smiled, a tear snaking its way down one cheek, and nodded.  "I was so scared I'd come back and you wouldn't be here," she said softly, and forced out a chuckle.  "I know that's stupid.  But Leliana wouldn't tell me anything about your condition while I was gone, and you didn't write, and everyone insisted that I not write either… I don't know. I was just worried, I know that's silly." 

            Cullen caught the tear with his thumb and wiped it away.  "I'm fine," he said simply, not knowing what else to say.  He should have written to her.  He would have, had he known Leliana and Cassandra hadn't been updating her on his recovery.  If nothing else, she was the Inquisitor; she should know about the condition of her advisers. 

            Talia smiled, another tear leaking out.  "I'm glad."  They stared at each other for a moment, Cullen's hand cupping her cheek and Talia grasping his elbow to keep him close.  The silence dragged on, neither knowing what to say, and then they were both talking at once. 

            "I'm allowed to run by myself again," Cullen began. 

            "We fought a giant in the Graves," Talia started.  They both froze upon hearing each other before there was a flustered chorus of who should talk first.  They lapsed into silence, dropping their hands awkwardly to their sides, and then repeated it. 

            "Well, Bull has been helping me with the recruits, and --" 

            "I think the Freemen of the Dales will be on our side now--" 

            Both blushed and looked away. 

            Finally Talia laughed.  "I missed you," she said softly, not meeting his eyes. 

            Cullen rubbed his neck before glancing up at her.  "I missed you, too."  They lapsed into silence again, but it was warmer this time, more companionable.   He wondered if perhaps she were just as distracted as he, dancing around what he really wanted to say. 

            He rolled his shoulders and spoke -- just as Talia did the same. 

            "I wanted to apologize--"

            "How have things been here --"  This time Talia giggled, and Cullen gestured for her to continue.

            "I… Really, I…"  She hesitated, and Cullen's anxiety rushed to fill the gap.  But when she chuckled again, he pushed his worries down to listen.  "I wanted to ask how you are," she forced out.  "I wasn't sure how to do that."  She reached out and put her hand on his forearm carefully, offering him a small smile. 

            "I am… better," he hedged.  "But I wanted to apologize again for what you witnessed in the Fade.  I was… the illusion isn't what… not yet, at least, and I don't…"  He trailed off, stepping back from her and running a hand through his hair.  "I do not want to scare you," he finally murmured, refusing to look up.  "I don't know what you want, nor do I expect it to be me, and I'm still…" 

            One long finger gently touched his chin, and Cullen looked up to find Talia standing very close to him. 

            "I'm not scared, Cullen," she said softly.  "I just.. want to know how you are. What you want.  That's all." 

            Cullen stared down at her.  He knew his eyes were moist, and he was suddenly hyper aware that he hadn't shaved yet that morning  She was so close to him.  He could just reach out, and…

            "Can you trust me, after all that?"  The words popped out before he'd even wrapped his mind around them, and Talia dropped her hand, stepping back suddenly.  Whatever walls had been down before had sprung back into place. 

            "Do I have a reason not to?"  She asked cautiously, her face guarded. 

            Cullen opened and closed his mouth several times before he could formulate an answer.  "I… am not sure, Inquisitor," he began, and saw Talia flinch with her title.  "I don't believe so," he added hastily.  "It's just that… I know what is real and what is not, and I want to believe that I always will, but… it is a process, and Solas said it is possible I could relapse at some point.  I don't…"  He sputtered himself out and glanced at Talia again.  Her green eyes were focused on him, intent and hard, and he turned to pace. 

            "I have discussed it at length with both Solas and Cassandra, Inquisitor," he told her, dropping into his role as Commander when she didn't speak.  "Solas believes most dangers have passed, and Cassandra has been training me to allow for a full recovery with time.  Neither believes there is a reason for me to step down from my position.  And I--" 

            Talia interrupted.  "I never once considered you stepping down, Cullen," she said, and Cullen paused at the sound of his name, not his title.   He turned back to her. 

            She had stepped closer again, one hand outstretched.  "I don't care about the Inquisition," she said softly as her hand found his.  "What do you want?" 

            Cullen squeezed her fingers and found that answering this question was remarkably easy.  "You," he whispered, stepping close to her.  He could feel her body heat through his thin tunic.  "I want to be with you." 

            She smiled.  "I want that too."  Her hand slid up to touch his cheek, and Cullen wrapped one arm around her waist.  He leaned down, his eyes slipping shut as hers did the same.  

            Neither noticed the runner that materialized behind them until the poor man spoke. 

            "Inquisitor! Commander!"  They leapt apart, Cullen going red up to his ears and Talia's eyes going wide.  She turned a murderous glare at the runner. 

            "What!"  She snapped, and the man cringed, suddenly realizing what he'd walked into. 

            "No-ote from Sister Leliana for you both, Yo-our Worship," he stuttered.  "She sa-aid it was, uh, was urgent." 

            "To my office," Cullen snapped, stepping forward.  He'd finally gathered his wits about him and knew he needed to take over before Talia threw the runner off the battlements. 

            "But the message for the Inquisitor--" he began before noticing that the Commander too had gained a dangerous expression. 

            "To her office as well, scout," he ground out. 

            The runner backed away slowly, the parchment in his hands shaking.  "Ye-yes ser," he said.  He turned on his heel and ran. 

            Cullen stared after him for a moment, furious.  His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel the hot flush of blood still coloring his face.  He didn't even look at Talia before he spoke.  "If you need to go--" 

            She materialized before him, her hand buried in his shirt.  "Not a chance," she murmured, pulling him down towards her, and his hands slipped around her once more.  That first kiss was warm and sweet, almost chaste as they moved only cautiously, both still nervous from their weeks apart.  But when Talia pulled slightly back, breaking their kiss for just a moment, Cullen followed, his lips seeking hers.  This time they crashed against each other.  No more feeling each other out -- now Cullen crushed her tight against his body and flicked his tongue against her lips, begging for entrance.  Talia gasped into the kiss and Cullen deepened it, trying to tell her everything he couldn't get into words with the heat between them.  She stepped closer, her body warm through his clothes, and he tried to hold back the groan that threatened to spill out.  Instead, he snaked one hand up to bury in her hair, tilting her head just so to allow him better access, and her fingertips dug into his shoulders. 

            It hadn't been an illusion.  Not her flirting before he got sick, not her attention when he'd been cruel, not her affection on that day five weeks before.  It had all been real, and Cullen vowed there, with her lips against his and his hands in her hair, that he'd never waste a moment of his life without her.  

            "Thank the Maker," he whispered as they broke apart, though he didn't elaborate on what for.    

            Talia smirked anyway.  "My thoughts exactly," she said, and tugged him back down for another kiss.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Note from Leliana to the Inquisitor, the Commander:  
> Don't forget: Everyone can see you up on the battlements. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!!


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